Flashpoint
by Dawn FD
Summary: A person close to the boys needs protection which will ultimately lead to tragedy for two of the team. Intrigue, blackmail and attempted murder…is this the most complicated and confusing case the Hardys have ever faced?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Joe Hardy needed to get the damn handcuff off his wrist and get it off quick. He was not looking forward to being cooked alive by the arsonist he had been stalking, not one iota!

He had just woken up on the floor of a woman's restroom smelling acrid smoke and listening to the sound of distant crackling flames, his manacled arm resting over his head. Then floated the sound of distant fire trucks, nicely illustrating the bind he was in.

Rolling to look, he found the cuff was linked to the iron leg of a sink unit, so he got up onto his haunches, wrapped his free hand around the link chain and began to yank and pull, using his legs and weight as leverage – the intention to break the cuffs or separate the sink leg from the floor.

The only problem: nothing was budging, loosening or breaking, no matter how much he strained, jerked and fought. He was starting to panic, to reach his own flashpoint. "C'mon!" he shouted. _"This isn't working…__why__ is this not working?"_ He grunted, hit himself upside the head and shouted: "THINK!" and then forced himself to slow down, to stop acting so 'Joe-like' and consider things rationally. At the moment, all he was achieving was a chaffed wrist.

Closing his eyes momentarily, he abandoned the fight to inspect the handcuffs more closely. What he found was a mass-produced pair, the type used to shackle hapless grooms to streetlamps for fun. It was little wonder they were not covered in a pink faux fur. Although unbreakable enough as to keep him a prisoner, it did not mean the manufacture was not cheap and shoddy. A plan hatched.

Glancing about, his gaze settled on the bin in the corner that was out of arm's reach, but not necessarily for his feet. So he stretched out on his side and strained until his was so taut that the cuff razor-bladed into his skin again. Delving about with the toe of his boot, he hooked onto the bin and inched it along until he was able to upturn and dump the contents out over himself. Then began the sickening and revolting task of mooching through the sticky wet contents. Remarkably he came across the very thing he was hoping he would find – a bobby pin!

"Thank heavens for little girls!" he muttered with a bitter grin before prising the plastic nodules off the ends of the wire with his teeth and the spitting them out. He straightened the metal, and then bent the straight edge into a tiny hook against the floor.

He stopped to place a palm flat against the tiles, noting the unnatural warmth, a sign the fire had progressed as far as the level below. The sands of time were fast running out. Fire was an unforgiving, fast mover and it would only be a matter of time before it climbed to seek him out. He did not even want to think about how he was going to get off the top floor if the stairs were engulfed.

"I'll make Dad pay for making me handle this case alone…where's Frank when I need him? Oh yeah…getting rained on in Seattle! Serves him right—" Joe pushed the end of the bobby pin into the cuff's keyhole and pushed the hook against the ratchets until it gave against the teeth and then carefully twisted his wrist as the bracelet opened, emitting a soft clicking sound. "Three months…three _whole_ months. Surely Frank's sorted by now?"

A splintering sound, and the room jolted as something crashed under the floor level. "Mind you—" he said, continuing his complaining monologue as he freed himself and stood up, "a bit of that Seattle rain would do some good right now," he strode to the door, "douse out the fire." He experimentally put his fingers against the door handle, yanking them back with a hiss – it was red hot, and thick choking smoke was beginning to infiltrate the room under the door.

He swore, shrugged off his jacket and jammed it to the gap, stopping most of the black mist coming through.

Stepping back, he looked around again. "No windows…no way out the door…no ventilation chutes," he stared about the floor, "and no comedy trap doors. I am _so_ screwed."

Then his attention fell on something he had not noticed before – a door down the other side of the room in a dark corner, beside to the last sink. Going straight for it, he cautiously tested the doorknob and found it was cool to the touch. No fire on the other side. Finally, he had caught a break.

He turned the knob but his hand slipped, leaving behind a smear of blood from the cuts to his wrist. Swapping hands he tried again, but the door still would not budge, solidly locked. Not messing around, he withdrew a few paces and began power kicking around the lock plate. On the third kick there was a splintering sound, on the fourth it caved in entirely and the door clattered open, swinging hard and hitting something with a loud clang.

Stepping though, he found himself in a large cleaning closet, not the escape route he was hoping for. What the door had collided with had been iron shelving, and although he was disappointed he was not going to be able to get out that way, there _was_ something he could make use of. On the central shelf was a roll of white and blue edged towelling, the type that in bygone days had been used in a dispensing machine, but which had gone out of use to be replaced with cheaper, hygienic paper towels and electric hand driers. This particularly roll was clearly being recycled by a fore-thinking cleaner. Quite a lot of the length had been cut away over time for use as ragging, but there was plenty left – and as a bonus, a large pair of dressmaker's scissors was lying on top.

Joe grabbed the scissors, put them between his teeth and lifted the heavy roll of linen. He carried it out, kept hold of the loose end and dropped and kicked the rest of the spindle out in front of him. It unfurled across the floor like a huge roll of toilet tissue and he chased after it, gathering up cloth until he had enough, and then cut away the piece and moved to heave it into one of the basins before setting the faucet running.

Fate was on his side as water ran freely, the fire having yet to take out the plumbing. Boy, he was glad he was not going to have to soak the towelling in the toilets, which would have been his only option otherwise! He went back to the roll and cut off another, smaller piece, which he also soaked and used to wet himself down, especially saturating his jeans.

Finally, he lifted out the larger section of cloth and wrapped it around his chest, ensuring that although he was swathed down to his knees, that he could still move freely. Then he used the smaller piece to create a protective hood which cascaded over his head and past his shoulders.

His jacket was no longer effectively blocking the smoke, which was now infesting the room again and coating the back of his throat to make him cough. So he pushed some of the loose cloth to his mouth to use as a filter realising that if the flames did not get him in the end, smoke inhalation would.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he went to the exit, kicked the jacket aside and opened the door with a covered hand. Immediately, he ducked, covered and used the door as a barricade from what he knew was going to come next.

A solid wall of fire shot roaring into the room. A golden, swirling and vivid living entity, gobbling up oxygen and turning his prison into an oven. Joe's lungs physically tightened as the air was torn screeching from the atmosphere and he closed his eyes against the glare. After a few shocking seconds, the howling receded to a hissing whomp and the fire retreated leaving the walls, floor and ceiling singed and smouldering.

Joe rose out of his crouch and stepped into the doorway to greet the fire. What he saw confirmed for sure that the stairs were now inaccessible, which left only one single exit...and if he dallied for too long he would lose his nerve to use it.

He gripped his hood shut, ensured his hands and arms were covered, took a gulp of fetid air, leaped and sprinted into the flaming corridor. With his head down, he kept moving until the inferno was at his back and pounded down the hall. There was method in his madness, he was not headlessly running, he was aiming for something, something he could not yet see through the dense black smog. Then he heard the one thing he had never wanted to hear again, and felt that telltale rush as the oxygen was again sucked from the atmosphere, a sign of the pursuing horror that was to come.

The building turned into a funhouse, the floor moving under him as an explosion began to build slewing him madly for a moment before he caught himself against the wall and pushed himself on target again. He squinted though streaming eyes to finally spot the window he had been aiming for, still seemingly miles away and barely visible through the fog. Daring a glance back, his eardrums began to ring as the intensity of the blast built to ear busting proportions from deep in the bowels of the building.

Hounding him was a ball of fire, a firestorm that was rolling far quicker than he was running – even though Joe had picked up speed and was eating up the ground like a pro-sprinter. The inferno was starting to envelop, devour and choke him. The fire wanted him, tendril hot fingers reaching and groping – but it was too late for the monster to take him as Joe was already diving for the window, airborne, the force of the explosion helping to propel him onward and the towelling cosseting him from being burned to a crisp.

He was spun by the blast to face the blaze before his back hit the glass and he was physically hurled screaming out through the window, the casement and glass splintering to give way. Joe's body sailed free and kicked out into empty air, arced and froze for a millisecond before dropping like a lead weight.

Joe prayed he was correct in his theory that this particular window overlooked the water, or the four-storey fall would kill him. He was glad all he could see was sky; he did not relish watching the hard floor rushing up to assault him, much preferring ignorance if he was going to end up in a million pieces. He was rewarded for his belief in his own sense of direction though when he hit water and went under, shards of wood, glass and other burning debris raining down about him.

The towelling-cum-fire blanket that had been his collaborator now became a turncoat, betraying and helping to drag him down, binding him as securely as any straightjacket. Trying to keep a clear head, Joe struggled against his self-imposed bondage and kicked to get himself to the surface. What with having run a three minute mile and the shock of being flung through the window, and then the long fall before hitting surprisingly cold water…well…he was just about suffocating.

But no matter how he fought, he could not free himself. In fact, he was getting more and more knotted up – although he did manage to get to the surface for a second, enough time to gulp in some air hungrily before going down again.

Then he was getting tangled in something else, probably weeds, and they were pulling at him, dragging him down further, yanking him about, frightening him, causing him to kick out…then he was unaccountably breaking the surface and taking in air, coughing hoarsely. Still struggling, he was too panicked to consider why he was at the surface again and no longer sinking.

"Take it easy, kiddo, you'll drown us both!" snapped a voice.

At the sound of the forceful, commanding instruction, Joe was shocked out of his fear and quit thrashing. He twisted to find Con Riley bobbing and supporting him as he coughed. An instant later his dad burst through the murky water several feet away with his back to them.

"JOE?" Fenton bellowed and prepared to dive again.

"Over here, Flash," Con called. "I've got him."

Fenton flayed about until he could see his son, deep relief etching his handsome features. "You okay?" he asked, doggy-paddling closer. He patted Con on the shoulder and they began working around Joe to untether him.

Joe could see a knot of people at the side of the lake, pointing and talking amongst themselves and uniformed officers directing a fire truck down the embankment. He must have put on quite a show for them. "Yeah, thanks," he said switching his attention back to his detective father, Fenton Hardy, and his burley ex-police lieutenant partner, Con Riley.

Finally, Joe was free and able to swim unaided so they struck out for the shore, an unverbalised agreement made not to say anything else until they were away from the building which was now freely burning out of control. Clearly there was little the fire fighters were going to be able to do to save the structure, and it would not have done the swimmers any good if they had stayed, only for an external wall to collapse onto them.

Which was exactly what happened as soon as they were wading out to be met by Office Bach and Officer James Anderson, the long-lost nephew Con had recently become reunited with, and who had found himself there after being called out while on duty.

James opened his mouth to say something, but a low rumble interrupted him. Everyone turned and several people in the small crowd gave off screams as the outer wall crumbled and came down, crashing into the lake and sending a shockwave of water surging, turning the ground into an mini earthquake. Some people ducked, others ran up the bank worried they would be struck by debris, many just simply stood and gawked.

Fenton was one of the latter people, standing knee deep in water, his mouth open and gaze fixated.

"Whoa!" Joe exclaimed and instinctively reaching for his father as Fenton was closest out of everyone to the tumbling masonry. Grasping his upper arm, Joe tugged to break Fenton from his trance and backed them into a retreat up the slope towards the awed crowd.

Seconds later, everyone was squealing as the dust cloud descended. The sudden surprise at being covered in soot making everyone laugh and breaking the tension.

"Aw man!" Joe groaned, palms out and staring down at himself in disgust. As if being muddy and wet in a t-shirt with a burned hole in the shoulder was not bad enough, he was now grey with dust too!

"Burned hair," Fenton said, smirking, his teeth unnaturally white against his grimy skin.

Mortified, Joe's hand went to his blond head and he started feeling about. "Where?" Fenton touched just above Joe's ear and his errant hand went there next. "No way! Not my hair! Can this get any worse? I just paid a fortune to have it cut – have I got any left?!"

"Kiddo, you should thank your lucky stars it's just the head decoration that's crispy," Con said, appearing at his shoulder with James. "You were a fireball when you fell from that window."

"No I wasn't…was I?"

"Yeah you were. Or at least that material you were wrapped in was – good call with covering yourself in it."

"What can I say? I am the ideas guru of the team!"

Fenton snorted.

"What happened?" James asked, putting his cap on to signify he was acting in an official capacity.

"Actually, James, do you mind if we go and get ourselves cleaned up first?" Joe asked, still prodding at his head and feeling uncomfortable at being stared at by an understandably curious crowd. He even spotted a couple of people using their cell phone cameras and realised with a groan that he would probably be up on _Youtube_ within the hour. "I promise I'll call down to the precinct after. I can confirm it was the guy I told you about who's our arsonist, I've got proof, but I need to report back to my client first. You know how these things work, yeah?"

"Okay, we'll pick him up in the meantime." James sighed, but then lowered his voice and leaned in. "When you come by the station house, ask to speak to me will you? I need all the brownie points I can get."

"Why?"

"Ask not."

*****

Joe entered the marina complex and jogged along the wharf, down the side of his houseboat and used the grab handle to pull himself up onto the deck. Not wishing to track dirt inside, he urgently started removing his sodden sneakers whilst hunkering low in front of his front door, not wanting anyone to see him in his filthy condition.

Realisation had hit once he was back at his motorcycle that when he had abandoned his jacket in the burning building, he had left his keys in the pocket so he had to accept a lift from his dad and borrow his spare houseboat keys. But Joe was doubly pissed when he realised his wallet had been in his back pocket with over a hundred dollars folded up inside, although he hoped some of the notes could be saved if he could pry them apart untorn and then leave them out to dry.

Luckily he had another key to his motorcycle at home, so he planned on getting himself cleaned up before updating his client on the case, and then jumping in a cab to collect his ride. Lastly he would head across town to the precinct to see James Anderson as prearranged.

Joe did not give it a second thought when he found his front door unlocked. It was nothing out of the ordinary as several people had a key and would often visit and be waiting for him when he got home. He simply opened up and jumped down into the seating area. Once there, he indeed found that he had company...but not at all who he was expecting.

It wasn't one of his social friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to those couple of people who gave me feedback for the last chapter. Would really appreciate some from the others who are reading if you feel able. Always good for the soul. I'd love to hear what you think. :-)**

**Dawn x**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Landing with a slap of his bare feet on the inner deck, Joe stripped his ruined t-shirt off and threw it into an unruly mound on the floor. "Oh, hi Frank. Look at the state of me – look at my hair dude, and my wallet!" He held it up in disgust and threw it towards his brother to examine before inspecting his chafed and cut wrist, flexing his fingers. "Won't be long, going to take a shower, make yourself a coffee or something. Do me one, would ya? I've had one_ hell_ of a day!"

After snatching the wallet out of the air, Frank amused eyes followed Joe as he stomped into the bathroom, his other fingers tickling Rufus-the-Cat under the chin who was haunched on his knee.

Joe was standing at the basin, studying his slightly inflamed ear and burned hair before his eyes opened wide agog at the implication of who was sitting in one of his La-Z-Boy chairs with Rufus on his lap. "Nah, I'm seeing things…wishful thinking!" he told himself with a headshake. Then he heard a sneeze and knew that it could not have been entirely a mirage. He knew of only one person who was allergic to cat fur, and that was Frank Hardy, his bro!

Flinging the door wide, Joe stood framed to find his brother had hit the switch on the kettle and was now mooching through his plastic first-aid box, the door to the cupboard still open.

Frank turned to Joe with that same amused expression. "Yo!" he said, using one of Joe's own favourite terms and tapped the cupboard shut.

Joe's mouth went into a series of contortions, trying to form some sort of witty retort but failing, the only thing coming out being a strangled gasp of naked astonishment.

Frank offered nothing, simply waited with his eyebrows expectantly raised.

Instead of wasting time trying to verbalise how he was feeling, Joe decided that physical assault was the way to go. He covered the short distance between them at a rush and collided urgently with his brother, squashing Frank into the counter with the force of his embrace.

Frank was made to support himself against the hardwood work surface before he could catch his balance enough as to be able to wrap his arms about Joe in return.

Joe bashed his brother enthusiastically on the back. "Man I missed ya! When did you get back?" he asked, pulling back with an uncontrollably wide grin.

"About two hours ago. Went to my apartment to drop off my gear and then came straight over here."

They were both beaming at one another, eyes roving each other's faces.

"Do Mom and Dad know yet? Is Nancy with you? What happened with your knee? How come the scars on your face aren't so noticeable, what did you do? Are you here for keeps?" Joe blurted out in a torrent of words.

Frank burst out laughing. "One at a time, bro! Go and get yourself cleaned up first and I'll tell you what I've been up to. Your jeans are starting to soak me – what have you been doing?"

"Sorry," Joe stepped back. "Been on a solo project, got conked, handcuffed, held prisoner, nearly engulfed in flames and blown up, drowned…you know the drill…doesn't matter, who gives a crap?" He stopped to catch his breath and slow himself down before moving forward to give another briefer hug, forgetting about his wet jeans again. "So if I hit the shower, you'll still be here when I come out?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Joe shrugged, went to sort himself out a change of clothes in the bedroom and then returned for his shower, his eyes barely leaving his brother who was still busying himself about the kitchenette by laying absorbent paper towels out having had the same thoughts about the sodden dollar notes. Joe could still barely believe he was here!

"Quit staring at me," Frank said eventually. "I can feel your eyes boring a hole into my back. I told you, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not an apparition"

Joe laughed and entered the bathroom again. Shortly, he returned refreshed but still prodding at his hair.

Frank had finished laying all the cash out on the counter top. "I couldn't save the top couple of bills, but the rest are salvageable."

"Thanks."

"Come here," Frank commanded and turned to the first aid kit.

Joe approached, not quite sure what Frank was proposing, but second-guessing his intention once his saw the bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his hand. Frank unscrewed the lid and tipped some out into a cotton pad and lifted up Joe's hand to start dabbing at the abrasions left by the handcuff.

Joe grimaced as it stung. "Always the big brother, always looking after me," he remarked wryly.

"That's my job," Frank agreed. "Always will be, apparently! Too ingrained for me to do anything about it, even if I wanted to, which I don't. Suits me just fine."

"That makes both of us, then."

Staring at his brother again Joe had to admit that the first impression he was getting was that all seemed calm. The storm that had been raging behind his brother's eyes three months ago appeared to have been extinguished or had blown itself out. Either way, it was a very familiar Frank Hardy in his kitchen.

Frank finished what he was doing and set the bottle down. "Here—" he said next and unhooked a St Christopher from his neck. It was the necklace that Joe had loaned Frank before he had left for Seattle. The pendant that Joe's first love, Iola, had given to him. "You can have this back now, I don't need it anymore."

"No, Dude, you don't need to—" Joe started to object.

"—Yes, I do. It worked, I don't need it now." Sincerely holding Joe's gaze, Frank dropped the pendant into his brother's palm, closed the fingers around it and pushed it firmly away. "Seriously. Look after it though, that thing is powerful."

And then Joe knew for sure that the supposed calm behind those intense, dark eyes was not an illusion. His brother really was, for want of a better word…cured. So he accepted the pendant back with a quiet nod and went to put it back in its rightful home in the wooden box atop his bedside cabinet, his heart hammering so hard it was in danger of breaking free of its boned cage.

Frank was waiting with coffees when Joe returned, handing across one of the steaming cups and then leading him back to the La-Z-Boy chairs. Frank settled down in the one that did not have Rufus curled up on it. He was not limping any longer.

"I've just gotta make a call," Joe said, lifting up his cordless phone and speed dialled Anderson's number. While he was waiting for James to answer, he shooed Rufus from the chair so he could sit down. He couldn't see Frank's walking stick.

"_The blond one?" _James asked.

"Yeah, it's me. Look, something's come up, I'm going to have to postpone until tomorrow."

"That's not exactly convenient, Joe. The Chief is going nuts, he's got the press crawling all over his ass, the warehouse owners are screaming blue murder and we can only hold this guy for questioning for so long. Collig's likely to make me and Bach come out there and pull you in for withholding evidence—"

"I know, I know! I'm sorry, dude. Can't be helped. Cover for me, will you? This is important."

"How am I supposed to do that when I'm not even at my desk?"

"I dunno! Tell Collig I'm sick from the water I swallowed – you'll think of something – improvise. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"But—"

"—See you tomorrow."

"Joe, are you in trouble, is someone there?"

"Everything's great, I'm just a little tied up at the moment," Joe said firmly and cut the call. Frank was looking at him curiously. "Just business that can wait," He returned the phone to its cradle. "So, what's up? Have you seen Mom and Dad yet?"

"No, I wanted to come see you first, since you were the person who forced me to evaluate what was happening. To thank you, so…thanks."

Joe grinned and waved it away. "What about Nancy?"

"I just spent some time with her in River Heights and now she's agreed to stay away for a while so I can spend some time with you guys alone, since I wasn't allowed to have any sort of contact with you while I was in Seattle. She's on a case anyway."

"But you _did_ keep in contact. You sent me e-mails."

"Yeah, but I wasn't supposed to which is why I kept 'em short." Frank said, tapping the side of his nose. "I sneaked around breaking the rules. I'm bad!"

"And?"

"And…you were right, I needed to sort myself out, talk stuff through."

"Have you?"

Frank tipped his head to one side. "Yeah," he said simply.

Joe leaned forward and swiped a high-five. "What about your knee? I don't see your stick."

"That's because I don't have it anymore. Didn't need further surgery in the end. A lot of the problems were caused because I wasn't walking right."

"What do you mean?"

"I was walking at an angle with my foot rolling. It was putting additional pressure on my kneecap. So my doctor helped to correct the foot problem, and then she gave me all these exercises I could do to strengthen up the muscles around my kneecap to compensate for the weakness. I'm back to jogging again and the Doc said I can start back with the martial arts next month."

"That's awesome!"

"Tell me about it. I was seriously starting to stress about my leg. No matter how much head therapy I got, I'd never have been able to come back to sleuthing if my knee was screwed!"

"So you're definitely comin' back to work then?"

"Try and keep me away!"

"YES!" Joe shouted and jostled Frank's chair, jerking him about and making him laugh. Rufus ran under the sofa at the hullabaloo and glared out at them, floating green orbs flashing and blinking angrily. "The Frankster is back…long live the Frankster!"

"Oh, and by the way – the Pandora Posse? They won't be back."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I took care of the problem. Trust me and don't ask any questions, okay?"

Joe went to protest, but was zapped with such a dark look that he knew his brother was telling the truth. "I believe you."

Frank's lips lifted into a half, lopsided smile and he leaned forward to try and coax Rufus out from under his hiding place. He sat back up after failing to tempt the ginger cat out to find Joe's finger pointing at his cheek.

"That's amazing. How did you manage to get the scars to fade so quickly?"

Frank froze and went red, silently contemplating. Eventually after running his fingers through his hair, he said: "Promise you won't rib me about it?"

"Frank! You can't make me promise that, I'll never be able to hold it in!"

"This is personal, bro."

"Okay, I'll try not to, but seriously…spill, dude!"

"I…I had a chemical peel to speed things up." Frank flinched.

Joe did not laugh, and Frank's face showed all the signs of disbelief at his brother's control.

"I don't think that's something I want to laugh about. Whatever it took is good enough for me. Doesn't matter how you went about it." Joe leaned closer. "They did a good job, you'd never know the scars were even there now."

"The nerve damage is probably irreparable though. Doc said it might recover a little as time goes on, but I don't think it will. But I'm told the smile thing is endearing, sexy even."

"Who told you that?"

Frank grinned wolfishly at Joe down his nose. "Girls, brother, girls! And plenty of them. You got yourself some stiff competition."

"What did her guide dog say?" Joe shot back.

"Doggy said to say hi to you and started drooling. I'm in your league now."

Joe started jostling Frank's seat again, rough-housing him. "In your dreams, Pal. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, no woman can resist Joe Hardy's special smile and smooth caresses!"

"Well I got news for you, brother, I've got my own special smile now and it's a winning one…and I've never had any complaints about my technique!"

"You wish! I've never seen someone so disappointed as Nancy."

Frank reached and yanked Joe closer by the shirt so they were nose to nose. "Cheap shot. Feeling threatened, Joe? You should. Have you seen your hair lately, scrubbing-brush-boy? Tall, dark and brooding is in this season, not stumpy—"

The front door suddenly burst open, making the brothers jump apart and laughter to cease. Joe jerked back up straight in his seat and twisted to look towards the noise, Frank half stood.

The brothers found themselves facing the barrel of a gun that was being aimed straight at them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the encouraging feedback. It's always nice to know what you think of the story. Enjoy chapter 3**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Freeze!" yelled the figure in the open doorway.

It was James Anderson, with his gun arm out and steady. That is, it _was_ steady until his eyes fell onto Frank. He was so surprised that he tripped over his own feet, tumbled down the steps and sprawled face first at the brothers' feet. His weapon shot out of his fingers and slid along the wooden flooring straight under the sofa towards Rufus.

The cat hissed, leapt on top of James, took a quick swipe and then fled into Joe's bedroom, so quickly at first that traction was impossible for his soft paws and he had to comically scrambled motionless before eventually picking up speed and shooting away.

Frank watched slack jawed as James bounded up and went after the freaked-out feline, apologising profusely, even though Rufus was already out of sight under the bed and is…well…a cat!

"What are you doing?" Joe shouted as James realised what a fool he was making of himself and turned back sheepishly.

"I thought you were fighting with someone, thought you were in trouble. Hi Frank."

"Hi."

Joe locked eyes with his brother and rolled them up to the ceiling. "Con Riley's nephew, eh? Who'd have guessed?"

* * *

Joe entered the office the next afternoon having visited James Anderson and a hairdresser to find both his fatehr and Con in situ, poring over their various tasks.

His hair was still full of static electricity. But not from his appointment at the hair salon, but via the very public dressing down he had received from Chief Collig in front of a room full of ear-flapping cops.

Con was beating a heavy tattoo on his keyboard with his middle fingers, his face about an inch from the screen, frowning fiercely, obviously not having a good time.

Fenton was finishing off a phone call. He looked up at Joe and made a 'come here' gesture with his index finger. Joe did not 'come here'; he stayed in the doorway and waited, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. Eventually Fenton replaced the receiver into its housing. "We've had a call concerning you."

"If it's about yesterday, I had a good reason for not turning the evidence over to the police until this morning."

"No not about that—" Fenton started to say, then realised what Joe had said, "—what do you mean you didn't turn the evidence over until this morning?"

"Uh."

"Oh never mind, this isn't about that…although you can bet your bottom dollar we'll be having words about that later!" Fenton grimaced and rubbed hard between his eyes. "You give me headaches, you really do." He started rummaging in his drawer for painkillers. "I think I've got a lead on someone who can come and work with you for a while, so your solo days are numbered. One of my old colleagues from my police days."

"Umm…you might have to rethink that, Dad. I've managed to sort myself out a partner – a young, dynamic guy who'll fit right in."

"And who would that be?" Con asked sardonically, clearly assuming it was another of Joe's jokes. "And how it is that you succeeded where your world-renowned-private-detective-father-with-all-the-connections couldn't?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Fenton agreed, tipping two tablets into his palm and reaching for his cup of water. He turned back to his smug looking son. "So. Come on then, impress us."

"I told you, I'm the ideas guru of the team, simple as." Joe glanced out into the corridor. "It's someone you know, actually."

Con finally looked up and wheeled his seat back so he could put his heels up on the desk and tuck his hands behind his head. "Drew, by any chance?" he asked, leaning back and making the chair creak.

"I'm not sure that Nancy would be too happy at being described as a 'young dynamic guy'."

"I dunno so much," Con said and winked at Fenton.

"Uh-oh, you're in trouble," Joe warned him. "The walls have ears, Con. Guess again."

"Jeeze – you don't mean…Oscar Smuff?!" he turned to Fenton in mock horror and then started guffawing loudly. "Now there's a match made in heaven."

"Can you imagine Smuff trying to escape from a burning building with Joe?" Fenton asked.

Con was clearly enjoying the turn of conversation. "Yeah, Joe leaping through the window like the well honed athlete he is…and then Smuff following and getting his fat ass stuck in the window frame."

Fenton laughed loudly, unable to get any water into his mouth to swallow down the tablets that he had just thrown into his mouth. "Young and dynamic – thy name is Smuff."

"Like Winnie the Freakin' Pooh."

Joe shook his head. "Guys…you're not even trying now!"

Fenton winked in return at Con and finally managed to down the foul tasting medication. "Just spill, Joe, unless you'd like us old guys to demonstrate our dynamism through using you as an example with our fists."

"Now that's not very nice!" Joe protested and stepped aside as Frank walked in.

Fenton stood up so quickly that his chair shot back and slammed the wall and the water he was holding sloshed across his desk. "Junior!?"

Frank grinned. "Looks like you could use some help, if you still want me of course?" Then he lowered his chin and made a play of staring threateningly out from under his eyelashes at Con. "And the walls _did _have ears, Con, I heard every word you said about Nan."

"Holy smoke!" Con grunted as his chair threatened to upturn itself. "Sorry, I didn't mean…it's just that Drew always says— "

"It's okay, Nancy's briefed me on your working relationship. You wouldn't want me to soil your good 'name', would you, Con?" Frank said, making it ridiculously clear that he knew, unlike the other two, that Con's name was short for 'Constantine'.

Con put his palms up in supplication as Fenton finally got over the shock and stumbled around the table, banging his knee in his urgency. "Of course we can still use you!" he blurted out, embracing his oldest son. "When did you get back? Have you seen your mother yet? How did it go in Seattle? What do—"

"Hey, slow down Dad, you sound just like Joe did yesterday! I saw Mom this morning while Joe was getting his hair cut. Tell you what, why don't we all get some chow and have a catch up? My treat."

"Now you're talking my language," Con agreed. He came across to shake Frank's hand and pat him on the shoulder. "Welcome back, kiddo."

Joe and Con volunteered to go out on a lunch buying mission, which was more designed to allow Frank and his father to have some time alone.

As soon as they were out the door, Fenton turned to his son and slipped an arm about his shoulders. "So, how did it go?"

Frank slowly smiled. "Dad, you were right, I _am_ all the stronger for it," he simply said. "I'm glad we had that talk at Carson's house. And I appreciate now just how difficult it must have been to tell me about it."

Fenton regarding his son in silence. "It was necessary," he said eventually, "you were sliding away from us." He began leading Frank further into the office before having another thought and turning back. "You do know that Con was just pulling Joe's leg about Nancy don't you? Con really respects Nancy, likes her a lot."

"Of course I do. Any fool can see that Con and Nancy are good friends. It's just the way they are together – point scoring. And anyway, Nancy told me his big secret, so he'll have a hell of job getting away with anything from now on."

"What big secret?"

Frank half grinned. "Nothing."

* * *

Vanessa stared at the desktop publishing document open on her PC screen.

She had carefully measured the length of text she needed, so, feeling confident, she shifted her curser to the pull down text bar, clicked on the plus sign at the bottom then coasted across to the next page and deposited the rest of the script. It shot down the page until it stopped…a couple of millimetres short of its target.

"For pity's sake!" she grouched and gave her mouse a violent shove. The action caused her to catch a nail against the edge of the keyboard. "OUCH!" She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked for a couple of seconds before pulling it out and inspecting the carefully manicured enamel. All was safely intact, no first aid required. She smiled slightly, remembering how Joe compared them to ladybugs nesting on the tips of her fingers.

Moulding her palm around the mouse again, Vanessa gazed slack faced at the screen, her other hand straying up to twist her ash blonde hair into a disorganised rope as she debated the solution to her text problem.

There were two choices: either edit the text AGAIN, or make the accompanying picture smaller – which of course would cause everything else on the page to misalign. Whichever she chose, she was in for a lengthy fix-up job. She gave a loud sigh; there was no easy solution.

She was so bored of creating countless brochures, pamphlets and newsletters. Yep, it had been fun at first, thrilling even, but as the saying goes…once you've edited one, you've edited 'em all…especially as Compute-Soft would not allow her to step out of the confines of the company's corporate image and uniformity.

What she really wanted was to have rein of the new website, but her line manager was territorial and Vanessa could not get anywhere close to it. It was so frustrating to be bubbling over with ideas with no outlet, but Nicholas (or 'Nick' as he preferred to be titled) was having none of it.

Even worse was suspecting he thought her a dumb blonde, even going as far as to openly stare at her breasts. Mind you, he was not very tall and as she was nearly six feet, it perhaps was not entirely his fault if they were right in his eye line winking at him. Added to that the fact their conversation was always so stunted as he had nothing to say to her…it did not make for an easy working relationship.

How jealous she was of her boyfriend. She considered Joe Hardy as one of the lucky ones. Doing the thing he loved each and every day, and getting well paid for it, _and _getting to do his publicising stuff for the detective agency whenever _he _felt like it…not when it was dictated. He and Frank were as good as self-employed.

She glanced around and over the partitions to see if she was being observed, but no one was paying any attention, their heads down and working. So she clicked onto the _Explorer _icon, logged onto the net and minimised the view. If anyone was to now walk up behind, she would hear them and have time to close the connection. She was doing something very naughty – her daily rounds looking for interesting job openings.

Eventually, she found herself on a company site who were actually customers of Compute-Soft. They had recently purchased some web software in order to improve the practicality and performance of their job section. It had been an unwieldy affair before with slow pages that would often crash, so applying for anything on-line was always accompanied by much cussing as, invariably, Vanessa would be halfway through the form and it would simply freeze and refuse to cooperate further. It would be interesting to see how Compute-Soft's product had helped them.

Five minutes later and she had to admit that it was much improved – easier to navigate with none of the signs of the old prevailing gremlins. But then something caught her attention, something odd. She could not help but peer even more closely at the screen as if she was misreading something.

Frowning, she reached for the ring binder sitting at the back of her desk and cracked it open on her lap. In the folder were her own private records she kept as a safety net. Having had the experience more than once of a crashing computer losing all her hard work, out of habit, she always made a point of keeping paper notes.

Flicking through the alphabetical sheets, she found the one for the company and reviewed her notes. As she thought, they had ordered a higher spec software package than the one on the screen, one that was way more expensive. Someone had messed up and uploaded the wrong version! _"Oops, someone's in trouble!"_

She next went to the accounts system and had a look at the financial records. She was astounded! Not only had the company been supplied with the incorrect product, they had been charged for the original order. It was working fine, so the company probably had not even thought to look – that is if they had known what they were looking _at_, of course.

Out of curiosity, she flicked through the sheets until she found another similar order for software and then turned to her computer to check. Two minutes later and she was almost convinced it had been a one off mistake.

"I'll just check another to be sure," she muttered and selected one at random. "Ah, found another…oh!" It was the same as the last mistake, but this time, the company had not been billed for the wrong software, just the one they had been ultimately supplied with. Now she was confused.

She fully minimised her Internet connection and sat back thoughtfully. Someone had made mistakes that only she had noticed. On one hand, Compute-Soft had profited unfairly, and on the other, they had resolutely lost out! Her nose wrinkled with disgust. She knew she was going to have to go and speak to Nick about it. But first, she had a little bit of photocopying to do – anything to delay the inevitable!

Ten minutes later and she was tapping on his door with the ring binder under her arm.

"Come in," she heard a gruff voice call.

She pushed the door open and entered the room. Nick was sitting at his desk with a pen in his hand looking up at her. As she entered, he arose and put his spectacles down on his desk, is eyes dropping to her chest area.

Vanessa shifted the ring folder from under her arm to her front and his eyes immediately shifted their focus to her shoulder instead. She fought the urge to grimace and forced a smile to appear in its place. "Hi Nick. I wondered if you had five minutes to look at something?" She immediately bit down on the inside of her cheek at her own unintentional pun.

"Yes, he agreed, his eyes finally flicking to her face before just as quickly looking over her shoulder.

"I noticed some strange anomalies with some of the software orders we've supplied to our customers."

"How's that?"

"I'll show you…" She approached the desk and placed the folder down. Turning pages and pointing to the relevant notes, she explained what it was she had found.

Nick ummed and arghed and scratched his nose. "Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

"No, I've only just noticed."

"Let's keep this to ourselves until we know what we're dealing with. I'll take the folder so I can make enquiries."

"Sure. It's all yours." She agreed and side shifted towards the door so her front wasn't entirely to him.

They both stood there for a few seconds, an uncomfortable silence settling which was only broken when Vanessa, in an overstated fashion checked her watch. "Gosh, is that the time? Gotta get going…the weekend cometh and so much to do! Thanks Nick. I'll speak to you on Monday."

"Yes," Nick agreed as she slithered quickly out.

"_Eww!"_ Vanessa muttered as she escaped back to her own desk. She really found him creepy.

She did not sit back down again. Instead she began tidying up, using plastic transparent folders to segregate her work. Then her phone rang and she snatched it up, annoyed that someone was calling her right at the end of the day. She balanced the receiver under her chin so she could carry on sifting through the paperwork. "Compute-Soft, Vanessa speaking."

"Yo beautiful, how's it hanging?"

She haphazardly ordered the plastic folders in terms of urgency and slammed them noisily together against the desk top. "Hi Joe. Whaddya want?"

"_Well you sound perky!"_ he grumbled.

"Too perky for some people's eyes," Vanessa countered. She made herself laugh. "Sorry, it's been a funny sort of a day." She leaned down, picked up her document case and slid the zip open.

"Well I think I can improve on it. Go and make yourself even more beautiful, if that's possible. Me, you…and Frank, we're hitting Danceland tonight."

_Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and a smile played around her lips. "Frank?"_ _She picked up her partly finished newsletter, and shoved it inside the case before abandoning it on her chair. _

"Yep, the Frankster's back!"

"_Really? Very __very__ much count me in!" She reached for her lightweight jacket._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Vanessa was standing outside the Danceland club waiting and feeling a bit exposed.

The instant she had stepped out of her front door, Joe had phoned to warn her he was going to be late, something to do with his hair being burned and having trouble getting it right…_"Burned_?_"_ She must have misheard or misunderstood, but whatever the real story was, he had told her to go on ahead and meet Frank, and he would see them there.

She looked down at her sheer silk dress and ran her hands self-consciously over the blue, white and black wavy patterned fabric, inspecting it for what seemed like the hundredth time to ensure it was draping correctly. Then checked that her earrings were sitting right in her lobes, sweeping ash blonde curls to one side as she did so. She had been careful that evening to ensure the dark blue of her topaz earrings, necklace and bracelet matched the blue of her gown and her eyes.

Vanessa was never as comfortable in her own skin as Callie and Nancy. Being so tall, she often felt a clumpy and ungainly next to other girls, so she made a point of presenting herself femininely. Joe always said she could be a model but she was convinced he was just being kind. She knew she was attractive enough – she had bagged the likes of Joe Hardy who was very popular at school – but she was definitely a 'broad', and not a 'chick'

Turning to look in the direction Joe would be coming from, she detected a familiar figure. It was Frank, strolling along confidently, one hand in his pants pocket, the other swinging free, his strides long and easy. The last time she had seen him was at the houseboat when he had come to tell Joe he was leaving for Seattle. He had been a ghost of his former self back then. A brooding, angry young man, challenged by everyday life and struggling to cope. Dogged and taunted by paralysing nightmares, he had grown skinny and was battered and bruised (on the inside and the out). He had been forced to relying heavily on a walking stick as his knee had been totally shot. That stick had been one of only two physical things he had allowed himself to lean on. He had pushed everybody else away except for Nancy Drew, and had rarely ventured out of his apartment.

Not anymore, now he appeared his old self, no, better than that, he had a spring in his step and an air of relaxed serenity. He was almost flying…soaring high. A couple of girls giggled and stopped to watch him walk by but he was completely unaware of the attention he had attracted.

Vanessa smiled.

He grinned back and sketched a wave.

"Well, Frank Hardy, I do declare."

"My compliments, Miss Bender." Frank countered and grabbed her into a hug.

When they parted she took another look at him. "You look good…really good!"

"Back at ya! You look amazing, as usual."

Vanessa reddened.

"Where's my kid brother?"

"Fixin' his hair, apparently. Had some tall tale about it being burned, but I think I heard wrong."

"You didn't."

Vanessa laughed. "Should have known! Shall we go in? I didn't want to on my own, but now you're here, we may as well venture forth and be brave."

"My lady?" With a head dip he gallantly offered her his forearm, which she duly accepted with a curtsy. The club's doors were held open by the doormen and Frank escorted her through. Immediately, they were hit with the heat of the place, the poundingly loud music and flashing light display.

"How's your leg?" Vanessa asked in a raised voice, Frank leaned in close to hear her better, his hand coming to rest lightly against her back. "Is it up to dancing?" she asked, nodding towards the large dance floor, already crowded with revellers.

Forced to cup his palm against her ear so she could hear him, he shouted. "Knee's good as new, and you know me, Van, can't resist bustin' a few moves." He indicated to the bar with his chin, "Drink?"

"Not until we've had one dance. We can get a quick one in before Joe gets here. I'm rarely able to persuade him." On impulse, she took his arm and squeezed it against her side. "It really is _so_ good to see you. I bet Joe was stoked the big one wasn't he? He really missed you, you know."

"I guess – went so far as to get into big trouble with Chief Collig by delaying going to see him because I was there."

"Ouch! Was it the Chief who set fire to his hair then?"

Frank tipped his head on one side with a serious expression. "It was! The Chief has his own brand of punishment. It's called a blow torch!" Frank stepped back and held his hand out before bellowing. "I accept your challenge to that dance."

Vanessa dropped her hand into his and they stepped up onto the dance floor to begin moving in time to the music. They ended up with Frank attempting to lead her into a clumsy ballroom dance by spinning her under his arm, but she kept on misreading his instructions and going the wrong way, tangling them up and making them giggle and squabble like a couple of kids. There wasn't the natural rhythm there that she shared with Joe. _Speaking of Joe_…she looked up and realised her boyfriend was standing on the dance floor watching them, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in mock disgust. With his white shirt glowing under the florescent lights and his fair hair, he resembled a shimmering and ethereal apparition.

A second later Frank noticed him too and froze with Vanessa mid-spin.

"_Busted!"_

"Dude! What did I tell you about taking advantage of situations and my girlfriend?" Joe shouted and playfully stomped his foot. Then he winked a baby blue and opened his hands wide. "Hey, look at us…the team back together, huh?"

"Yay!" Vanessa yelled in delight, and dragged Joe unwillingly into the dance.

Five minutes later and she was leaving the dance floor with an uncomfortable looking Joe Hardy, who had begged to be allowed to go to the bar, rather than _"make a jerky show of myself."_ Leaving Frank to carry on kicking up his heels with a couple of acquaintances who had joined them.

It was turning into a good night.

* * *

Vanessa reached her desk, pulled her chair away, switched on her computer with a sigh, threw her bag under her desk, opened her drawer to get her coffee mug out = the habitual habits of a working day! Another Monday morning and another round of Monday morning blues. _"What's that old saying? Oh yeah, 'Another Day, Another Dollar'!"_

Her phone rang so she quickly shook her coat off as she took up the handset. "Compute-Soft, Vanessa speaking."

"Hello Vanessa, it's Elaine—" Upon receiving no response, she prompted Vanessa with, "—Mr Bale's secretary."

"Oh yes, sorry Elaine, I didn't recognise your voice. How can I help you?"

"Mr Bale would like to see you."

"I've only just arrived, and—"

"—_he would like to see you immediately."_

"Oh. Okay, I'll be right there." She slowly put the phone down, thoughtfully wondering why Mr Bale would be interested in seeing her. She had barely shared more than a few words with him the entire time she had been employed by the company.

Mr Bale was the Chief Executive Officer of Compute-Soft, which was perhaps the most outstanding and interesting thing about the man. He was of average height, a little portly, with curly, red receding hair. He did not spend much time with the staff, other than the more senior members of management.

Vanessa supposed he wanted to speak to her about the oddities in the orders she had uncovered on Friday evening. Draping her coat over the back of the chair, she left her partition and headed for his private office at the end of the huge room, weaving her way through all the other desks and nodding at the odd acquaintance as she passed.

Then she was at the door and tapping on the glass.

"_Come in,"_ someone called.

She pushed the door open to find Elaine at her desk outside Mr Bale's office. "Go straight through, Vanessa," she invited and pointed at an inner door.

Vanessa did as directed and pushed the door open, peeking inside. She found Mr Bale sitting at his desk with a member of Human Resources sitting in a chair opposite.

He indicated with two fingers toward her and then pointed at the empty chair next to the staff member Vanessa could not identify by name. "Come on in, Miss Bender. You know Miss Jones of course?"

"Uh, yes. Hello." Vanessa said, catching Miss Jones's eye and smiling amiably. She entered the room fully and sat down. The way Miss Jones smiled back was weak and watery, her eyes not quite reaching Vanessa's – a strange and indecipherable expression that made Vanessa uncomfortable. She looked at Mr Bale expectantly as he cleared his throat.

"Miss Bender, I've asked to speak to you on a very serious matter and I've asked Miss Jones to sit in with us so she can answer any questions you may have with regard to Personnel legalities." He looked at her, waiting for a response.

There was a long pause as Vanessa's brain whirred, trying to work out what on earth he wanted, an irrational sense of foreboding rising. "Right…okay," she said vaguely and glanced again at Miss Jones who was now looking down at a file in her hands. Vanessa saw that it was her personnel record.

Mr Bale bought her attention back to him. "During a routine check of staff Internet access, it has been brought to my attention that you have been accessing the web during core working hours. As I'm sure you know, that is against company policy."

Vanessa felt heat flooding her face. "Well, yes that's true, but mostly it was for work related issues. And on Friday when I was on-line, I discovered some anomalies with some orders which I brought to Nick's attention—"

"—Which, upon investigation, proved to have no basis in truth."

Vanessa frowned. "What do you mean 'no basis in truth'? I checked more than one order, I found at least two that were incorrect."

"Pure fiction."

Vanessa could feel a different kind of heat rising now, and it was not embarrassment, it was indignation and irritability. Mr Bale was continuing, despite it being clear that his words were having an adverse reaction.

"And to be frank, Miss Bender, your work has been something of a disappointment since you started. We were full of hope that you would improve our Internet site, but Nick tells us that you have been less than willing to offer any support or expertise."

Now Vanessa really _was_ annoyed. "What? I've been trying to get involved in the Internet creation side of things for months, it's Nick who's been blocking me! He's never once told me he's dissatisfied with my performance."

"Diverting responsibility toward a very well liked and respected member of staff isn't going to help your situation."

"What?" Vanessa spluttered again and turned to Miss Jones. "Are you going to allow him to talk to me that way?" She raised a hand and starting lifting counting fingers in turn, "Aren't there procedures? Aren't I allowed a representative to sit in with me? Aren't I supposed to have prior knowledge? Aren't I supposed to know what's going to be discussed, not to just have it thrust upon me?"

Miss Jones's eyes did not rise from her paperwork. "I, erm, it's quite clear you have been accessing the Internet when you shouldn't have, and our policy is quite clear on its usage. And your job description does list Internet creation as one of your duties."

"That stinks!" Vanessa snapped, "and not what I asked. I'm entitled to a fair hearing and representation."

Mr Bale leaned back in his chair with a smug expression. "I think your outburst pretty much shows the calibre of person you are Miss Bender, that you're not a good fit for our company. I'm afraid we're going to have to call it a day."

"Are you firing me?" Vanessa interrupted; she turned to Miss Jones again, looking for help. "Can he do that? I thought we were supposed to have verbal warnings for anything other than gross misconduct?"

Miss Jones carried on staring at her file.

Mr Bale cut in again. "I'm not firing you, Miss Bender, I'm just not renewing your contract. You've just reached your six month review and we have found you lacking."

Vanessa stood up quickly and leaned toward him, her hands on his desk top. "How dare you speak to me like that? I've worked hard for your company and brought a lot of work in. You really are a piece of work. It is also 'clear' to me, Mr Bale, that I've just had a very lucky escape!" She looked down at Miss Jones who was very red in the face, "and you should be ashamed of yourself."

She turned and walked out of the office, her heart beating ten to the dozen. As she walked past Nick's office, on a whim, she opened his door, finding him at his desk. He looked up surprised, but before he could say anything, Vanessa snapped. "Are you satisfied now? I just got canned because of your lies. I really hope you got what you wanted – the kingdom's all yours!"

He arose from his desk and made as if to go after her, but she slammed the door in his face and went to get her coat and bag. The whole office was silent, everyone having overheard her words to Nick.

On the way out she looked to see Nick standing there with his eyebrows set low and as she passed him, he turned to stare across the office at Mr Bale who was watching from the other side of the floor.

Vanessa tossed her hair and walked down the stairs and out of the building with her head held high. It was only once she was free of the building and heading for Joe's place of work that she allowed her tears to flow. Not borne of sadness, but sheer anger and humiliation.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for the feedback. You're all the best!

**

* * *

****Chapter 5**

Frank was at his desk trawling through the mound of e-mails that had accumulated in his account since he had been away. Most were junk and spam, but there were some nice _'how are you'_ and _'get well soon'_ e-mails from his friends.

He was part way through when something sticky hit him sharply in the cheek and then fell away onto his wrist, making him flinch and jump. He looked down and realised what it was before glaring across the office at a sneering, impish Joe. "Bro, I swear to God...if you fire another paper-wad in my direction, I'm going to do you some damage." He leaned over his waste bin and jiggled his arm until the tiny ball of soggy paper dropped in. "Gross!"

"_Joe, leave your brother alone," _Fenton ordered, out of sight of Frank.

Joe could see him though, evidenced by the way his face fell and he quickly placed the ruler down he had been utilising as a makeshift catapult.

"Find something to do."

Con grunted in agreement. "And stop sending me those e-mails. I know it's you."

"What e-mails? How do you know it was me? I'm innocent, Dude!"

From the angle he was sitting at, Frank could detect Con manipulating his computer mouse.

The ex-lieutenant cleared his voice and starting reading aloud from the screen, performing a bad imitation of Joe. "_Dear Mr Riley. Dude, you smell. Get some cologne. From everyone._"

A strangled cry immediately emanated from Fenton's direction.

Frank felt his dad's pain; he was having troubles of his own not laughing his head off too. He leaned his mouth into his palm and, through watering eyes, watched as Joe shook his head.

"It was Frank." Joe spluttered, pointing an accusing finger towards his brother.

"He isn't that juvenile, and the term 'Dude'…that's your style, buddy!"

Joe opened his mouth to deny everything again, but holding it in was a problem and he started laughing. "Okay, okay, I can't deny it, it was me."

Con gave him a look and then shared a different look with Frank.

Frank arose and walked slowly around from his desk and stalked up to Joe. "I see your smart mouth hasn't diminished in the time I've been away!" He grabbed onto the back of Joe's chair and pulled it with its occupant still in situ.

Joe made a surprised squeak as he was wheeled backwards and Frank towed him around to the more open area and then pushed him towards the side of Con's desk under the window, picking up speed as he got closer.

"You're going out!"

"Frank, ol' pal – you don't really wanna do this!" Joe protested.

"Don't I, ol' chum?"

"Do you need a hand, ol' bud?" Con asked, starting to raise himself.

"Very neighbourly of you, Con." Frank stopped and, aided by Con, made as if to pick the chair up with Joe still in situ and tip the whole lot out of the open window.

Joe jumped up and sidestepped away from Con out of arms reach and batted Frank away. "Okay…okay, you win! I give in! Sheesh!"

Fenton crossed his arms, grinning, enjoying the show.

"Dad…tell 'em!"

"Don't involve me, it's your own fault," Fenton said and then cringed at the hollering Joe was starting to make as Frank and Con moved to grab him. He put his palms over his ears. "Joe! Not so loud! It's a wonder we get any work done around here for all the roughhousin'!"

Con slumped back down and picked up his pen, returning to the paper accounts and number punching.

Also sensing an end to the fun, Frank wheeled the chair back to its home.

Joe boosted himself up onto the window ledge and looked over Con's shoulder to see what he was doing with his calculator. "Surely there's an easier way of doing that than by hand?"

Con sighed loudly as his finger stopped tapping mid-key, Joe's interruption ruining his flow and forcing him to have to start again. "Yeah there is. It's called 'being-allowed-to-concentrate-without-someone-twittering-away-in-your-ear.'"

"Or by using _Excel_?" Frank offered, still standing by Joe's workstation.

"I don't know how to use _Excel.._.it's all rhubarb to me."

"It's a—"

"—shut up so I can focus!" Con cut in. He wheeled his chair closer to the desk and went back to punching numbers.

Frank looked at Joe's facial expression, reading him like a book – as was Fenton apparently, illustrated by the way he started sitting up straighter in his seat with the perfect eyebrow lift.

Joe's face was full of devilment and his hand was reaching for a pen that had been left on the ledge next to his hip.

Frank tried to catch Joe's eye, shaking his head, but Joe chose not to see. He had picked up the pen and was looking at it, planning how it could be incorporated into an evil scheme. Frank started making his way across the floor to intercede before Joe did something he would later regret – messing with Con when he was concentrating so hard wasn't such a hot idea.

But then luckily something else distracted Joe's attention away, and he switched to looking out the window instead, the cheeky grin still half on his face.

Frank slowed, puzzled as Joe's expression morphed into a frown.

Joe came down off the window ledge and stood to look out at more of an angle, moving his face closer to the glass, the writing implement and Con forgotten. Then he backed away from the window with a headshake, said one single word, "Vanessa…" and dropped the pen. He turned and charged from the room and out into the corridor.

"Joe?" Frank called out and attempted to follow, but Joe was already at the bottom of the stairs before the door was even opened properly. Frank glanced back at his father and Con.

"What just happened?" Con asked, now having abandoned his attempts at completing the paperwork. He and Fenton were staring at one another nonplussed.

Frank changed tack and headed for the window to look out. He could see a lot of activity going on. Cars were backing up down the road, a jam forming and just a little ways up the street, a knot of people in the middle of it, leaning over someone who was on the ground. It looked like that person had been hit by a car. Joe appeared in his eye line, running headlong towards that band of bodies – going to the rescue, he assumed. Suddenly, it came crashing in on him what it all meant. "Oh no!"

Frank immediately followed after his brother, his father and Con rising to look out of the window, still not understanding what was happening but now at least knowing that it was something serious and not one of Joe's many practical jokes.

By the time Frank was crashing through the outer door, he could see the blond head that belonged to his brother pushing through the throng of people to get to his girlfriend.

Frank quickly followed, drew abreast and took a quick mental note of the scene. Vanessa was conscious but upset, clinging to Joe and talking. A stranger – who Frank assumed must have been the driver of the car blocking the street – was on her other side and also visibly shaken.

Joe looked up and locked on. "Frank…a male, looked our age, brown hair, denim jacket, dark trousers, stark white sneakers," he pointed down the street, "went that way – he pushed Van into the path—"

Frank did not hear any more as he was off and running, pounding in the direction Joe had indicated, arms and legs pumping, dodging pedestrians, avoiding and leaping over inanimate street objects and furniture. His head was high, scanning, looking for a likely suspect, looking for retribution. _"Hey Joe, look at me, I'm running – actually __running__! And on a case! Boy, does it feel great!"_

The guy had probably bumped Vanessa by mistake, but to leave the scene…that was an error in judgement Frank was determined the perp was going to pay for. And he knew he was going to get his chance for when he burst through a small crowd of people, there the guy was, the suspect, totally oblivious that he was being pursued. Frank knew it was him, he was the only person on the street who was likely to have been Vanessa's assailant. Joe's description had been accurate, right down to the bright, white sneakers.

Walking at a fast clip and talking into a cell phone, the man only swivelled to look back when he heard Frank's fast beating footsteps. His mouth stopped moving and he squinted slightly, clearly debating whether Frank was coming for him, or whether he was running for a bus. Within seconds, the guy decided not to stop and find out and turned to flee.

Because Frank was already at full pelt, like a vehicle, the perp could not accelerate as to make enough distance to prevent a collision. Frank was on him within seconds, both of them going down in an unruly jumble of arms and legs.

The guy had landed front first on the ground, which meant that when Frank recovered himself, he was on top and able to put a strong hold on him. "Pal, you just picked on the wrong girl!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, it was an accident, man!"

"Yeah? Well, you can explain that too…"

Frank didn't get any further as something big and heavy had swung into his peripheral vision to whack him solidly in the side of the head, rocking him sideways and over-balancing him. Before he could collect himself, it was coming in again for a second direct hit and harder. This time it knocked him entirely away and made his head ring.

One more strike and Frank would be out for the count.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for your kind reviews. Keep 'em coming...food for the soul! :-)**

**

* * *

****Chapter 6**

Frank attempted to turn his head to block the next strike to his temple, debating in the ensuing few seconds whether he should let go of the perp with one hand so he could fend off the next blow. Then his mystery attacker started to speak.

"_You are __not__ going to mug this young man…oh dear!"_ A surprised older woman's voice said.

The guy under Frank began to move and slip away, so Frank made an uncoordinated scramble to hold onto him, which proved difficult as he was being kicked and pushed at the same time. Then a foot connected sharply with Frank's midriff, ensuring he would not to be able to function for at least half a minute.

Vanessa's attacker slid completely out of his grasp and was gone.

Frank lay there, his arms tight around his middle waiting for his vibrating lungs to allow him to breath, listening to fast retreating footfalls – not just one set, but also the footsteps belonging to whoever had hit him with the swinging object. Not as fast, and certainly heavier, but they were going pluckily after the guy. Whoever it was began shouting loudly. _"You young rascal, come back here! Obviously you've been up to no good!…Someone stop him, __stop him I say__!!!"_

Frank knew that voice only too well. There were not too many 'have-a-go' heroes out there anymore – trust this one to be travelling on the same path as him! The shouting stopped, footsteps returned, and seconds later hands were on his upper arms, gently helping him to sit up. He looked into a friendly face, confirming his suspicions.

"Frank, are you alright my dear?"

"Yeah, thanks Mrs Holliday."

"What on earth are you thanking me for? I let him get away. I just interrupted you apprehending a despicable character didn't I?" she opened up her handbag and started rifling through. "I deserve to face a firing squad!"

Frank assured the older English woman, "At least you stopped …even if you _did_ help the wrong guy."

"I'm very sorry, Frank, obviously my handbag makes a fine weapon." She found what she was looking for and pulled out a hip-flask. "Would you like a tot of brandy? It always helps with shock."

"So I remember, uh, no thanks Mrs Holliday. I'm okay, really. You carry on though." He got himself to his feet and leaned over his knees to catch his breath and allow his lungs to recover.

"Not for me, I never touch the hard stuff."

If Mrs Holliday had not been standing in front of him, he would have burst out laughing, so he shook his head instead. No one carried alcohol around with them in flasks 'just in case' they came across someone in shock! Smelling salts was the more logical option. Someone else was now running towards them and Frank turned his head to find it was his father and a lagging Con Riley.

"Son? What happened?" Fenton asked, grabbing at his forearm and encircling his shoulders .

"I lost him."

"Entirely my fault, Mr Hardy. Oh, I could spit, I really could."

Not acknowledging her, Fenton's attention was entirely on Frank. "Are you okay?

Frank nodded and straightened up again, trying not to roll his eyes at his father's over-reactionary worrying. "Was a bit winded is all, I'm fine."

"Which way did he go?"

"That way." Mrs Holliday indicated up the street and Fenton started running, leaving an out-of-breath Con.

"Con, this is Mrs Holliday." Frank said by way of introduction.

Con and Mrs Holliday smiled at one another.

"So, we meet at last, Lieutenant. Every bit as stately as your newspaper pictures suggest."

"No longer a Lieutenant, now a PI."

"So I understand. Might I take the opportunity to apologise for leading you up the garden path that time about Nancy and Frank's whereabouts?"

"You may, but it's forgotten."

"Very gentlemanly of you."

Frank cut in, "That guy's long gone. Dad won't catch up with him." He grimaced in disgust.

"Whatever it is he did, he couldn't have profited very much from it. He'll have to buy himself a new mobile at least," Mrs Holliday said.

"Mobile what?" Con asked.

"Phone—"

Frank raised a hand. "Wait – Mrs Holliday, what do you mean by _he'll have to buy a new mobile_?"

"He dropped it when you jumped on him, and a car flattened it."

Con and Frank both moved towards the edge of the sidewalk and saw pieces of blue and black plastic strewn about the asphalt. Another car whooshed by, crunching over the remains of the handset and no doubt taking chunks away wedged in its tire's treads.

"Dammit!" Con muttered and reached into his pocket. He extracted his FBI badge and stepped into the road, right in front of an oncoming car, holding it aloft. "STOP!" he bellowed.

The car screeched to a halt and the driver wound down his window to lean out and shout. He changed his mind when Con raised a challenging eyebrow and wiggled the badge. "Police business. We won't keep you longer than we need to, Sir. Thank you for your cooperation."

Then he turned and did the same thing to the next vehicle coming the other way. This time is was a van, which caused a heart stopping moment for them all when it failed to halt until Con was practically nose-to-nose with the driver. Frank had to give Con credit; there was no flinching, he just held the driver's gaze. The young driver waved an immediate apology, went beet red and reached down to turn off his blaring stereo.

"Quick!" Con ordered Frank. "Pick up every piece you can find before one of these bozos decides to really run me down."

Frank pulled out an evidence bag and he, aided by Mrs Holliday, ran about the road picking up every chunk of broken phone they could find while ignoring the blaring horns from vehicles further up the street.

Mrs Holliday came up with the front section of the cell where all the workings had been housed. It had escaped being crushed completely, so the screen and circuit board were still in situ. However, the sim-card was missing, and no matter how much they patrolled the asphalt, it remained lost. In the end, Frank escorted Mrs Holliday out of the road and allowed Con to let the traffic go.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help," Mrs Holliday said regretfully.

"If you hadn't been here we'd never have known about the phone. We can maybe lift a partial print from it."

Mrs Holliday sighed and took one final look into the road. "Well…I suppose I should carry on with my shopping. It was nice to see you again, Frank, even if not under the most acceptable of circumstances."

"Nice to see you too. When Nancy's in Bayport, we'll come visit."

"That would be lovely. All are invited, I'll cook." She made as if to leave and then stopped and turned back. "Are you happy, young Frank? You look better."

"I am, Mrs Holliday."

"Goodo!" She smiled at him. "Surprising what love will do. Good day to you, gentlemen."

They parted company, going in opposite directions.

Frank directed a question to Con as the two of them ambled back towards the office. "Is Vanessa okay? I didn't see any ambulances pass me."

"She says she's fine, but it shook her up. Insists she wasn't pushed on purpose, thinks the man was after her handbag. Joe's taken her back to the office."

Frank shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. He wanted to delay any assumptions until he had spoken to her himself, and Joe might have seen more from his vantage point through the window. Frank was still pissed at himself for not keeping hold of the guy, but he did not blame Mrs Holliday, she thought she had been doing the right thing.

Presently they were pulling the door open and entering the building. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, they could hear one single raised voice raging away upstairs – Joe's voice.

Con turned his eyes heavenwards before quickly jogging up the stairs and bursting into the agency. As soon as he was through the door, Frank heard him roar even louder, and the shouting abruptly cease. As he came through himself, Frank found Vanessa sitting in his own swivel chair with an ice pack pressed up against her elbow staring red eyed at Joe.

Joe was motionless in the middle of the office, toe to toe with Con and glaring, his fingers twisted into frustrated fists.

In comparison, Con had his thumbs tucked into his belt in a relaxed pose."Champ, you're not helping. Getting angry isn't doing your girl any favours, look at her!"

Joe's eyes shifted to Vanessa's face and some of the fight went out of his shoulders and they drooped slightly. He lowered his head and scraped his fingernails over his scalp. "Sorry babes," he muttered. "I want to kill him."

"I know you do, buddy, but—"

Not letting Con finish, Joe's eyes had lit upon Frank and he instantly knew that he was, in some small way, still smarting from the hits he had taken. More dented pride than anything else. "What happened to you? You got hurt, didn't you?"

"How can you..?"

"Cause you would've been the first through the door otherwise and we're brothers." Joe stalked straight up to him and took him by the arm. "Sit down, yeah? Aw man, this is all you need, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be getting involved in dangerous stuff like this yet; I shouldn't have encouraged you to go after him. You've only just come back to work. Your knee, you've been told you can't start back at your fight classes for another month, so it's still not right. When you were…"

…It was nonsensical babble. Obviously the incident involving his girlfriend, compounded with Frank's recent history was resulting in a caustic mix, his protection instincts going into meltdown.

Frank began resisting, trying to pull the iron grip free, but it simply resulted in Joe's other hand being laid forcefully against his shoulder. "Joe…JOE…I'm okay. You don't need to worry any more, I'm all recovered, honestly, Bro!"

But Joe was not listening, manhandling him across the office.

And then Vanessa was there at their side, having abandoned the ice bag in Con's hands and was pulling Joe's face around to her own and smiling reassuringly at him. "Joe, it's fine. I'm okay, Frank's okay. Just a few bumps and bruises that'll heal – heal the normal way. Not so sure about my nails though—"

Vanessa's palms dropped to Joe's chest and Frank nodded fervently in agreement. After a thoughtful pause Joe finally released his brother and turned to give his girlfriend a hug instead. "Sorry," he muttered, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Vanessa giggled. "That's why we love you, Joe, so don't _ever_ apologise," she pulled back and tweaked his nose, "and now I want my ice back because my arm is really stinging!"

Con passed it across and she returned to Frank's chair again.

Joe leaned back against Con's desk, still looking embarrassed. "Where's Dad?"

"Actually, that's a good point – I could use the backup. You three are tiring work!" Con went to pick up his phone. They all waited as he dialled. It was answered quickly. "Hey Flash, where you at, Pal? I need some back-up, the youngsters are revolting!"

The door to the office opened again and Fenton stepped through. "Right here, Zarkoff!" he said into his cell phone with a silly grin.

Con _harrumphed _and dropped down the handset.

Fenton's well-timed reappearance helped to dilute some of the heavy atmosphere and everyone started laughing – a bit manically. Not really that funny, but it did do the trick of helping to cleanse everyone's spirits.

Con turned to their little kitchen area and started to rustle up some refreshments as Frank went to get the first aid box to help put Vanessa back together again.

"Van, what happened out there?" Frank asked, slicing open an antiseptic wipe.

"Well —"

"—That guy pushed her into the road, into the path of a car!" Joe blurted out, brandishing a bandage dangerously like a club.

"Joe, let Vanessa speak for herself," Fenton requested.

Vanessa reached out and gave Joe's hand a squeeze. "I was walking up to the office to see Joe, and this man just appeared out of nowhere at the side of me. I thought he was going to ask me for the time or something, but I think he went for my bag and I fell."

"You 'think'?"

"Well…yes. It was so quick I didn't have time to really analyse what was happening. One second I was on the sidewalk, the next I was almost tasting rubber."

"Did he actually make a grab for your bag?"

Vanessa stopped and thought hard. "I'm not sure, maybe – he must have."

"Does anyone want to listen to my version of it? Or are you all determined to silence me?" Joe asked having become frustrated again. "I saw the whole thing through the window, and what I saw is different to what Vanessa thinks happened."

Fenton made a progressive hand gesture, "Go ahead, sport."

Joe was winding the bandage around his girlfriend's scraped forearm and elbow as he talked. "Vanessa was walking towards the office – like she said – but the guy, he appeared from the front of the building and went straight to her, he wasn't following her, or walking along, he was loitering…waiting. There were at least two other women with more accessible bags than Van's closer to him, but he ignored them and went for her…I mean directly for her, and fast."

Everyone had stopped what they were doing now and were listening closely.

Joe had to nudge Frank to get him to pass some sticky gauze. "Her bag was on her shoulder next to the road, so it wasn't even within quick grabbing distance. He pushed her, pushed her hard. No way the guy did it by mistake. He meant her to get run down." Joe looked challengingly from one man to another, daring them to doubt his word. No one was about to.

Con addressed Vanessa. "Are you involved in anything...anything that might make someone want to hurt you?"

"No, of course not. If I was, I'd have told Joe."

As if on cue, Con next raised an eyebrow in Joe's direction.

"Dude! I'd never involve myself in something that would put Van in danger! I think you might be looking at the wrong person." He looked pointedly at Frank.

" Hey! Don't even think to assume this is anything to do with me. I've been away for three months—"

"But given your recent history—"

"Joe!" Fenton growled. "Knock it off. Frank's right, he's been away. He was barely able to talk to us, let alone anyone else."

"Yeah, and bro, I told you before, I've learned my lesson. No more secrets."

Joe conceded the point with a shoulder roll and all eyes returned to Vanessa.

Fenton smiled fatherly at her. "Honey, has anything at all strange happened today? It might be something that doesn't seem to have anything to do with this. Tell us even if it sounds silly."

"No, nothing." Vanessa went red and started showing an unnatural interest in Frank's pen-holder. "Nothing that would be relevant."

"Van, stop procrastinating," Con said. "Tell us what happened."

"Hmm…" Vanessa gave it some contemplation before admitting: "Well, this is embarrassing, but I was canned this morning from my job."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Vanessa was sitting opposite Joe at the dining table having just finished dinner, prepared by her mother and ably assisted by the younger Hardy brother who had surprised Andrea by proving himself a dab hand with a wok. Andrea had now returned to her artwork, leaving the two young people to their intense conversation.

Joe was talking animatedly, using colorful language, angry hands flying about.

Vanessa was trying to stay focussed, nodding to appear interested and stroking at her bandaged arm. It was not simply to rub away the soreness; she was self-comforting. Joe was obsessing so much about the guy who pushed her that he was mentally tiring her out.

Joe was not really seeking any feedback, he just thought he was. What he was really doing was debating and fighting with himself internally – punishing himself for his imagined lack of action, and blaming Frank for what he _should _have done instead of allowing an old lady to beat him up.

Plonking her chin on her fist, Vanessa blocked out Joe's self-flagellation.

He was at her house because he had insisted on taking her home, trailing her car the entire way on his motorcycle _"Just in case…" _They had argued. She had not wanted to be followed_ "Just in case…"_ Not because Joe did not have a point, but because she had not wanted to face admitting to her mother that she had blown her job with Joe standing right there. The thought was mortifying enough as it was.

And truthfully, she did not feel in danger. She did not think the guy had done it with a view to doing her any real harm, and he certainly was not going to try it again. Especially after the way Frank had jumped on him. It was probably some sort of stupid frat dare that went awry, his friends having challenged and goaded him on and then legged it, leaving him to the fate of having a Hardy land bodily on top of him – the one brother who was determined to prove his worth to the other three employees at the agency. If it had not been for Mrs Holliday, Frank would have dragged him to justice, that was for sure.

So she had expected having to face her mother and admit to having blown her job – with Joe twittering like the Harbinger of Doom in one ear, and her arm fighting for inclusion by smouldering under her bandage like it was on fire…_ "Great!"_

As it happened, she need not have worried about her mom's reaction. As soon as Vanessa had climbed out of her red jeep wrangler, her mother had opened the front door and rushed down the front steps with her arms held wide. "Baby! Laura phoned and told me everything that happened," she had said and embraced her. "Hello, Joe."

"Hi Andrea." Rocking his bike back on its stand, Vanessa had shot him with an exasperated look over her mother's shoulder.

Andrea continued: "Don't worry about the job, there are plenty better out there that are more worthy of your talents. I can probably push some freelance work your way..."

"How did Mrs H know?" Vanessa interrupted accusingly, extracting herself. "I suppose Fenton told her, didn't he? I told him not to!"

"Don't blame Fenton, he was worried about you." Andrea next took a look at Vanessa's forearm, running he palms around the bandage. "How is it? Do you want me to take a look?"

"No, it's fine. The brother's are pretty adept at fixing these things – let's face it, they've had plenty of experience of putting themselves back together again. Stings though."

"Do you want me to kiss better?"

"MOM!" Vanessa allowed herself a little smile, the first one that had come naturally since she had entered her office partition that morning. _"Aw no, I left my mug there and Callie gave me that!"_

"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough!" Joe snapped across the dining table, breaking into her thoughts.

She stared nonplussed, confused. "What exactly do you want me to do about it, Joe? The guy got away, we've only a vague description, and we've no proof that he did it on purpose."

"I think we should look into the situation with your job. It's the only thing that happened today that was weird. There could be link."

"How? It was my own fault I got canned. I shouldn't have been accessing the net. Mr Bale is a creep, but he was right. I knew the rules and I broke them." She wrinkled her nose, "Besides, I hated that job, so good riddance. Maybe in some small way, I psychologically planted a bomb under myself."

"That's not the point—"

"Compute-Soft has no reason to come after me for anything. I don't think my losing my job has anything to do with what happened today."

"There must be some reason why that guy thought you were worth killin'."

"He didn't try to kill me, I think I tripped! My guess is that it was a case of a joke gone wrong or mistaken identity." She went to lift down a glass. "Some other poor blonde is probably about to find herself sliding into home." She opened one of the drawers and started sorting.

"That's not funny, Van."

"I didn't mean it to be, I feel sorry for her, whoever she is." She extracted a bottle of aspirin and moved to get some water.

"Well, if it's such an open and shut case, why are my spider senses tingling?"

"Joe—"

"Seriously Van, they don't tingle for nothing."

"You read too many comic books. I'm surprised you haven't got Superwoman's truth rope out to use on me."

"That was Wonder Woman, babes."

"I rest my case". She spun round with a grin. "You realise it's not usually kids' comics that men keep hidden in their bottom drawers, don't you? I'm willing to bet Frank doesn't have comics in his bottom drawer?"

Joe contritely raised his hands, palms forward. "You don't want to know what Frank's got hidden in his, don't even go there!" Then he grinned impishly, "Besides, Wonder Woman is HOT! Play your cards right and I'll buy you a Wonder Woman outfit."

"Play your cards right and I'll wear it." Vanessa dryly shot back.

Joe's eyebrow kinked up, clearly enjoying the mental image.

Vanessa laughed and turned back to fill her glass from the faucet, as she did so, a pair of muscular arms curved around her waist and Joe's chin came to rest on her shoulder.

"I only worry because I love you babes, and don't want anything to happen. After Iola, well…?"

She put down the tablets and glass and turned to face him, his arms not losing their grip as she did so. They ended up with their faces about an inch apart, bodies touching. He had been eating cherry drops again; she could smell them on his breath. "What happened to Iola, that's not going to happen to me, you know that, yeah?"

A shoulder shrug.

Laying a hand against his cheek, she could feel the tenseness in his jaw. "Joe, the chances of it happening twice – you got more chance of winning big on the lottery." She kissed him, softly, and then leaned away just a little and lightly brushed his lips with hers. "You know that, yeah?" she repeated in a whisper, not relinquishing the contact.

"Yeah…" He made a soft noise and came in to kiss her a little harder. When he pulled back to look into her eyes, she could feel a lot of the tension had evaporated. Vanessa crossed her eyes playfully. "And you know, too, that Frank didn't let the guy get away on purpose. He could hardly fight an 'old lady' to keep hold of him, could he?"

Joe's face glazed over and Vanessa imagined the scene playing out in his head of Frank kung-fu kicking at Mrs Holliday while she hooked his foot with the handle of her handbag, crimplene skirt flying around her nylon encased knees. "Okay, you're right," he acquiescenced.

"Good." She turned around in his arms again and took up the aspirins. "And another thing, Joe. I wouldn't let Mrs Holliday hear you calling her an 'old woman', 60 isn't geriatric. Now I want you to go home because my arm is hurting. So I'm going to take these pills and then go to bed."

"Aw…can't I stay?"

"You know the rules Joe, not when Mom's here. That's just…wrong…she doesn't like it."

"I wasn't asking her to join in!"

"Ew!"

"Aw," Joe grumbled again.

"We sound like a donkey!"

Laughing hard, Joe kissed her neck and his arms slid away to get his helmet, allowing Vanessa the opportunity to swallow back the aspirin.

*****

"It's two in the morning!"

Was Vanessa's third thought after her eyes had snapped open, her first having been:

"What's that over my mouth?"

And the second:

"What's Mom doing on top of me with her hand over my mouth?"

Andrea put a finger to her own lips and made an urgent, yet soft, shushing noise. Then the palm was removed and she leaned in close. "There's a man in the house."

Vanessa's heart skipped a beat. _"What?"_ She sat up quickly and cringed, half noticing that her nightlight was still on. Every part of her body was stiff, but particularly her arm which had almost seized in the night. The action of leaning her weight onto it had really hurt. Both women's faces swung towards the door as a shuffling noise wafted up at them from downstairs. _"Mom's right, there really __is__ an intruder down there…_how do you know it's a man?" she asked in a low voice.

"Saw him over the banister. Come." Andrea helped her out of bed and pointed to the walk-in closet.

Vanessa knew her mom wanted them to hide out in there, but before she allowed herself to be herded the rest of the way, she grabbed her cell phone and slid open her bedside cabinet drawer to lift the replacement can of pepper spray. She had used her last one up taking out Network Agents who had been stampeding about her home trying to get the Pandora programme from Nancy Drew.

Even after all those months, her mom still blamed Con Riley for the damage that had been inflicted on her home, holding him responsible as the 'adult' in the situation, even though he had taken the time to fix everything afterwards – and one or two more jobs not even on the list.

She joined her mother who was waiting by the open closet door, ready to slide it closed after them. They entered and pushed themselves through the clothes to the other side and crouched down on top of Vanessa's shoe collection. Although it was dark in the space, a little light was finding its way through the slatted doors, courtesy of the dimly lit lamp, enough for them to see each other outlined against the darkness.

Vanessa lifted the phone and speed-dialled Joe's number with her uninjured arm, blocking the screen's backlight with her knees for fear of it leaking out and betraying their refuge.

She knew it might take him a while to answer, but even she was surprised and frustrated at the time it took for him to pick up. It transferred to the answer phone the first time after five rings and she had to redial, but eventually:

"_Yo_—_"_

"It's me."

Instant alertness: _"Babes, what's wrong?"_

"There's a man in the house."

"You both safe?"

"In my closet."

"I'm comin'." He disconnected without waiting for a response.

"On his way." Vanessa whispered to her mother, pushing the phone into the toe of one of her boots.

They both sat there for a while, holding hands and listening hard for any sounds from outside their little prison but all was silent. Eventually, Andrea looked up and appraised the clothes rail before lifting herself and reaching to unhook one of the empty wire hangers.

"Whatcha doin'?" Vanessa asked, as her mother's hands began erratically moving, but unable to make out what was happening.

"Making a weapon," Andrea whispered back. "I'm unravelling it so I can use it to stab. Saw it in a movie. Joe might not get here in time, and no one's hurting my baby."

Vanessa held up the pepper spray canister, "And no one's hurting my mom!"

And then they both detected the sound of someone entering the bedroom.

The women regarded one another with identical looks of dread mixed with determination. Dread at the fact it was too soon for Joe to have arrived, and, determined that they were not going to be caught wanting. They shared a silent signal that only a mother and live-in daughter would understand and they moved forward out of the shadows to stand upright facing the door.

Vanessa raised the pepper spray to eye level and hovered it and Andrea pulled her arm back, waiting to strike. They both froze in their poses and waited, ears straining and eyes narrowed at the door, totally focused and ready.

Eventually, they saw a broad shouldered, man-shaped, fuzzy shadow moving slowly, approaching the slatted doors. He stopped and his head swivelled towards the main door, then he turned back and looked down. The outline of an arm formed sharply into focus as it reached for the handle and gripped on.

Vanessa swallowed audibly.

_The door began to slide._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Vanessa watched mesmerised as her closet door began to be slid open by the large man on the other side. She only allowed it to be released a couple of inches before letting rip with a spray of the flaming, obnoxious liquid, hitting her intended victim full in the face.

Andrea immediately shoved the door the rest of the way across and hit out with the wire. It made an audible swishing noise as it past through the air right in front of the man's face. But he was already out of range having retreated at speed with an animalistic bellow, palms shielding his burning eyes. He backed up and tripped on the edge of the rug and began to fall. Andrea shot forward, claws out, protective motherly instincts dominating and careened into the already dropping figure, knocking him flat. She pulled her weapon arm back again with murderous intent.

"No…MOM!" Vanessa yelled, running in her footsteps, desperate to stop her doing something deadly with the wire, but unable to move with any real dexterity due to the stiffness.

Luckily, Andrea's target must have sense something because he bucked and Andrea was thrown off, landing on her back. Instantly though, she was scrambling for him again and climbing onto his chest, pummelling him with her free hand, and bringing the hanger around as he attempted to claw himself free across the rug.

But by then, Vanessa was there and able to get hold of her mother's arm and wrench the wire from her fingers. "Mom…stop it. It's Con Riley!"

"Get her off me!" Con choked out, the pepper clearly having the desired effect of not only blinding him, but also causing his airways to inflame and swell, "Can't breath!"

Andrea would not allow herself to be easily shifted. "What are you doing creeping about my home…my daughter's bedroom? I KNEW there was something off about you the first time we met."

"Mom!"

"I should have stuck the hanger up your nose you pervert."

"Get off me, woman."

"Mom – Joe must have sent him, he came to help."

"It was him I saw downstairs."

"No Mom, it wasn't. Think about it. Con worked for the police for years, I think he'd make a better burglar than that – he's not even in dark clothes. He only lives five minutes away, Joe probably told him to come over because he's so close – heck, I should have thought of it myself!"

Andrea froze and gazed down thoughtfully at Con, who was rubbing madly at his eyes, coughing and gasping, having given up on arguing and fighting with her. Then she took in the clothes he was wearing. Finally she looked back up into Vanessa's pleading eyes. "Damn! You're right, the clothes are different!" She removed herself from off him.

"Damn's right, Mom," Vanessa said and bent over Con. "I wouldn't have fired if I'd known it was you, Con - we were scared out of our wits! Does it hurt…sorry, silly question…what can we do?"

"Water," Con gasped.

Vanessa started to help him sit up. "Mom, go and get a glass of water."

Con shook his head. "My eyes."

There came a clattering from below. Both women jumped and Con gamely tried to blindly get protectively to his feet. But then they heard Joe's voice calling from downstairs, "Van?" So Con dropped back down again.

"We're up here," Vanessa called.

He ran up the steps and into the room, his eyes hungrily seeking out his girlfriend. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, and then he looked down at Con. "What happened to you?"

"Uh, I pepper sprayed him." Vanessa blushed. "And then Mom hit him a few times."

"I thought he was the intruder. I wasn't going to let him hurt us."

"Jeeze!" Joe came forward quickly and took Con by the arm to haul him to his feet. "Dude, I'm sorry about this, if I'd known they were that able, I'd never have called you." He addressed the women; "I'm taking him to the bathroom, to rinse his eyes out. C'mon, Con."

Joe started to lead him sightlessly from the room, but stopped briefly in the doorway and looked back. "Has the man gone?"

"Yeah," Con said from under his hand.

"Don't the both of you go anywhere, stay here until I can check the house," Joe ordered. "Lock the door." Then both men continued their weaving walk down the hall to the bathroom.

Vanessa and Andrea exchanged guilty looks.

*****

It took twenty minutes before Con was recovered enough to experiment with drinking something that was not going to turn his mouth into a volcano. His eyes were still red-raw, but at least they were not stinging and he could see. His chest was going to have some bruises though, from the pummelling he had endured underneath that demented woman, Andrea Bender.

Andrea was still avoiding eye contact, although he was sure he caught her regarding him with sidelong looks a couple of times. Oh yeah, she was definitely still holding a grudge with regard to the Pandora thing. It is not as though that had even been his idea, it had been Frank and Nancy's!

If there is one thing he had realised about Andrea Bender – some fellow, possibly Vanessa's biological father, must have done something bad to make her dislike and distrust men so much. He appreciated her need to forcefully protect her cub from an intruder, but once she had realised her mistake…she had barely even apologised. "I know how women feel now," he said to Vanessa, who regarded him quizzically. He pointed at his red cheeks and swollen eyes. "You know, when you've been crying for hours?"

Vanessa giggled and Andrea made a harrumphing noise, and gave her hair a flick.

He decided to simply ignore her, which was hard as she was sitting there in a silky pyjama set looking just so gosh-darned gorgeous – if only she was not so dang contrary! He picked up the coffee that had been sitting on the table in front of him for five minutes and took an experimental sip. It didn't taste too bad, with just the slightest bitter aftertaste of pepper. Not as strong a brew as he was used to though.

Joe entered the room. "Whoever he was, he's long gone and didn't leave anything behind, but he had a good look around. When you saw him, Andrea, was he wearing gloves?"

"Yes."

"Thought as much. I can't see that he took anything; in fact, Van's bag is still on the kitchen table. He emptied it out, but didn't take her money or cards. I think he was looking for something. Any idea what?"

Con watched Vanessa's face closely, looking for signs of lying. In his years as a police officer interrogating suspects, he had picked up a trick or two with spotting avoidance tactics – such as when Vanessa had started fiddling with Frank's desk furniture earlier. However, not a flicker of emotion did he see, or anything questionable when she answered.

"I haven't a clue."

He believed her, and so did Joe apparently, who demonstrated his faith in her by not pushing it.

"Van, I know you don't want to accept this, but I think this warrants further investigation. There must be a reason why someone is showing this level of interest in you," Joe said.

Vanessa regarded Con, who dropped his chin in agreement. "Tomorrow morning, I think you should come back to the agency with me and Joe after I've arranged some personal protection for your mom. See if we can thrash some sense out of this."

"Okay." Vanessa said, "I admit that things are looking a little more serious than I first thought."

Andrea broke her silence: "I don't want any personal protection. I don't want any more strange men hanging about my house. Had enough of that."

Con turned on her, his patience having evaporated to nothing. "It's as much for your daughter as you. And it won't be a man. I know how you feel about _them_." It wasn't the time or place to butt head's with Andrea Bender, but her bad attitude was driving him crazy.

Andrea rose up and she and Con glared at one another until Vanessa interrupted. "I think that's a good idea too, Con. Thanks." Then she turned to her mother who was now glowering at her instead. "Mom, I'd feel better if you had someone watching over you, just until this is sorted out. Do it for me. Please."

Her mom agreed with another hair toss and sat down again.

Con decided that now was the time for a subject change and turned to Joe: "Is the side door lock busted?"

"No, it looks to have been picked so I was able to lock it again. I'll install an alarm chain on it tomorrow. It won't stop a determined person getting in, but it might scare them off and provide an early warning."

"That's a good idea."

Joe slumped down onto the arm of the chair Vanessa was sitting in and slipped his arm about her shoulders. "One thing's for sure though, I'm staying tonight."

Con caught another challenging glance from Andrea and her shoulders stiffened. He decided to get himself out of harms way. "I think I'm surplus to requirements. I'm off home, unless you need me for anything else?" He walked to the door, giving his eyes a rub with the back of his hand.

"Con, it's nearly three in the morning, and you're not safe to drive!" Vanessa said quickly and looked pointedly to her mother.

Andrea sighed just slightly and forced a smile. "Yes, come on Con, I can't throw you out in the cold night after you came to help."

"You weren't throwing me, I was leaving voluntarily."

She came forward to look up at him and he noticed that even though she had seen active service in the last hour after being woken up, her hair was still curiously neat and silky. He wondered if she had taken time to brush it out. Odd…_"Another sign of the insanity that __is__ Andrea Bender…why do I allow her to get under my skin?!…Man, she smells good…__Dammit__!"_

"Nevertheless Con, you can take the spare room – Joe, you'll have to take the sofa bed."

Joe's shoulders slumped and Con smirked, barely containing a laugh at Joe's crestfallen expression. Andrea caught his almost-grin and gave him a dark look.

Con crossed his arms and regarded her back with the same level of darkness.

And then Vanessa did something which Con thought was insanely brave and made Joe's jaw drop. She said firmly to her mother: "Mom, I'm 22 years old. Joe isn't sleeping on the sofa, he's sharing with me. I spend nights at the boathouse, so what difference does it make? I promise we won't get up to anything other than sleeping. Okay?"

And then to Andrea's benefit, she simply said, "Fair enough," and pushed Con towards the stairs.

Half way up Con asked Andrea quietly. "Are you sure you're fine with that? I can have a word with Joe."

"My daughter's right, she's 22 years old. She's not a baby anymore – no matter how much I wish it. She'll be flying the nest if I don't give her some privacy and freedom. At least this way, it might delay things a little." And then Andrea actually smiled at him. Properly smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"I'm nearly done here," Joe said to Vanessa and Andrea and pointed to his handiwork with the screwdriver. "All you have to do is slip the chain on like this—" he gave them a demonstration, "and then if someone opens up, it'll make this sound." He pulled the door and the end of the chain connected with a sensor and a shrill alarm sounded, making them all cringe. He quickly shut the door and unhooked the chain, instantly silencing it.

"It's very loud," Andrea observed.

"And that's a _good_ thing. I can install one on your front door if you'd like?"

"No. I think we'll be fine. It's dead locked, and with our personal bodyguard, I doubt anyone will be visiting us any time soon." Andrea looked down and gave Rebel's head an affectionate pat.

Rebel was Con's dog. A huge German Shepard mix of a mutt. An ex-police dog, as intelligent as the day is long, but almost deaf…hence his too-early retirement from the force and Con's adoption of him.

Con and Andrea had just spent thirty minutes in the back yard where he had taught her some rudimentary commands in order to communicate with Rebel. Although Rebel could hear if someone was speaking loudly next to him, he worked better at distances with arm, hand and facial gestures.

Joe had earlier watched, fascinated, at the patio door as Con had demonstrated the usefulness of Rebel's vibrating collar, which, when used in conjunction with the tiny hand-held control box, meant his attention could be attracted. Stamping on the ground was also a good way of beckoning him, as he could sense the vibration, but the collar worked better at a distance.

Vanessa had joined Joe at the patio doors and they had both watched for a while. Eventually, Joe asked: "So, what _is_ your mom's problem with Con?"

"I'm not sure. But I think he reminds Mom of the guy she got involved with after dad died. He was a physically big guy as well – but that's where the resemblance ends. He took every advantage, and then as soon as the going got hot, the hot got going. He was an abandoning coward, Con isn't."

"Con abandoned James—"

Vanessa gave him a hard stare. "Wash your mouth out, Joe Hardy! I'm sure Con had very good reasons for doing that, and he's there for James every step of the way now. I think James looks on him as the father he never had."

"I was just pointing out that there _is_ some small amount of abandonment guilt on Con's side and your mom might have picked up on it."

Vanessa further defended Con, "Hmm...I can't help thinking you're over-analysing a very tiny issue. Con _isn't _James's dad remember, it wasn't his job to raise him, James had parents for that…parents who didn't want Con around. He was in a no win situation."

Twenty minutes later Andrea, Con and Rebel re-entered the house. Andrea had made a good and willing pupil, and she and Rebel had hit it off. There had been plenty of tail wagging and giggles, and an obvious glow of satisfaction from Andrea when she had walked into the kitchen after seeing Con out the front door.

*****

Joe entered the office with Vanessa to find Frank sitting at his workstation looking flushed and Fenton shaking his head in resignation to both him and Con, who in turn had his palms up.

"Yo dudes! What's wrong with you three?" Joe asked, throwing Vanessa's car keys down onto his table. She picked them back up and dropped them into her purse before they became lost in the devastation of his part-finished work.

"We forgot about this," Frank said and held up a swinging evidence bag.

"What is it?"

"The perp's cell phone. He dropped it in the road and it got pretty much smashed to smithereens but we managed to pick up a lot of it."

"And you forgot about it?"

"Well, yeah, bro. I got distracted by you dragging me across the office."

"Don't blame me!" Joe said with a half grin, giving his brother a quick dig in the shoulder with his fist. He felt an unexpected warmth radiating in his chest and realised it had begun when he had entered the room. He had underestimated just how much he had missed seeing his brother at his desk in the mornings.

Frank was still talking to him, but his eyebrows had dropped slightly, an indication that he had sensed something. "Uh…the simcard is missing, but we might get some prints off it." He gazed back at Joe slit eyed, inviting an explanation, but upon receiving nothing, shook his head to throw off whatever that feeling had been.

"Con told us what happened last night, are you and Andrea alright?" Fenton asked Vanessa.

"We're fine. I don't think he came upstairs, so the only fight we had was with Con."

It was clear that Con had not mentioned that part of the story from the way the other two suddenly took an interest. "Andrea Bender is a mad woman," he remarked and took a huge gulp of his coffee, half hiding his face with his mug.

Vanessa took the bag from Frank in her good arm and turned it over. "Hey, I was going to get one of these phones. They're a brand new model and mucho expensive. I was going to cut the cost by—" she frowned and looked more closely at the remains, "—I wonder?" She turned to Fenton. "Can you empty it out?"

"Son, another evidence bag," Fenton requested, clicking his fingers in Frank's direction.

Frank stood and dug into his pocket to pull out a small roll. Separating one from the others and second-guessing his father's intention, he slit the sides to make a plastic sheet and laid it out across his desktop. Fenton then carefully tipped out all the pieces out and stepped aside so Vanessa could have closer, unfettered look.

She carefully turned the remains of the bag to inspect the side of the bigger piece that housed the screen and circuit board. Finally, she looked up at Fenton jubilantly. "The main reason why I want one of these phones is because they have a great camera that uses a separate flash-card. You don't have to download any pictures from the phone before you can print them…and guess what?" She pointed at the broken plastic. "The memory stick is still inside."

They all bent to look at the area she was indicating to. Sure enough, they could see a slot in the side of the cell, with a little blue rectangle part-protruding through the plastic.

Joe grabbed Vanessa and gave her a kiss on the lips. "That's my girl – I knew you were a geek for a reason!"

"Don't diss the geeks, pal!" Frank muttered and winked at Vanessa who had muttered 'ouch' at the suddenness of Joe grabbing her sore body.

Vanessa continued: "My laptop at home has an interface that can support one of those. If you can get it out and it's not too damaged, I can run a sweep to see if there's anything on it."

"We should check for dabs first," Con said. "I assume we have a finger print kit?"

"You assume correctly." Fenton said and headed to the storage cupboard.

Ten minutes later and they had lifted a good, clear latent…right from the centre of the screen.

Once that was completed, Vanessa was able to carefully extract the memory stick, which she held up triumphantly. "Geeks rule!" she yelled. "Come Joe, let's go back to my place and see what's on it." She turned back to Frank, "Comin' with?"

"Three's a crowd." Frank slid a conspiratorial glance towards his father. "If you're going to do that, Dad an' I can go and visit some of the cell phone suppliers and see if we can get a lead. If the model is as new as Vanessa says it is, we might get lucky."

"Looks like I'm manning the phones. Blessed is me," Con grouched. "I'll give James a call and ask him to come over. I'll have him run a check on the print. It's probable the chump will have priors, and if that's the case, they'll have a file."

Fenton went to lift his jacket down off the peg and glanced at his watch. "We'll all reconvene here in a couple of hours to swap notes, agreed?"

Gesticulations of accord from everyone as they trampled out the door and Con picked up the nearest phone.

*****

Exactly two hours later, Frank was entering the agency again with his father.

Con was at the work counter, switching on the kettle when they trooped in. He lofted a thumb in greeting, and then immediately pulled down two more cups to add them to the couple that were already there.

Frank had not noticed there was anyone else in the room until a movement caught his attention and he looked across into Con and Fenton's office to find James Anderson sitting in Con's chair, swinging softly to and fro. He was clearly on duty, in his uniform.

"Hiya James."

James half saluted him, "The Dark One."

Fenton laughed at James's nickname for his older son. "You don't know the half of it," he muttered as they both nodded a greeting to one another.

Frank had heard James call Joe _'The Blond One'_ a couple of times, but this was the first time James had included him in the joke.

James sat forward in the chair to lean his elbows onto his knees. "Unc's been telling me about the stuff with Van. A bit of a worry."

"You could say that," Frank agreed. "Did Con give you the fingerprint?"

"I did." Con answered, pouring boiling water into the cups and spooning the liquid into violent circles, causing plenty of spillage. "I told him to hang on though, just in case any of you good people uncovered something he could further help with."

"Good thinking, Zarkof!" Fenton said, moving forward to accept a cup from his friend. It made his hand wet, so he dried it down his pants. "And a good thing you did, because we _have_ found something James can help us with."

"What's that?" James asked.

Fenton pulled a piece of notepaper from his pants pocket, but before either he or Frank could answer, Joe and Vanessa bustled into the room.

"Wait till you see what was on the memory stick." Vanessa said immediately. She stopped and glanced about before her eyes fell on the pin board situated next to the coat pegs. "Does anyone mind if I take down some of these bits of paper?"

"Go right ahead, honey. I don't think any of us even looks at them." Fenton said.

Vanessa began unpinning papers, uncovering a darker coloured cloth underneath, the ghost of the removed papers left in contrast to the sun-bleached outer areas.

"My girlfriend is da-bomb – set to stun…ning!" Joe quipped.

Vanessa threw a withering look. "Whatever." She turned and looked for a likely home for the rejected papers before simply thrusting them at Joe who added them to the pile on his desk. Next she took up an envelope she had been carrying and pulled forth a stack of pictures, printed on photographic paper. "Look at these—" she invited and started pinning them in a neat row onto the wall. "He'd only taken four, so I think the phone was so new he hadn't taken many."

Everyone came across the office to gather in front of the notice board, including James, although he hung at the back.

Joe stepped up and pointed to the first image. "This is a picture of the guy's feet. We think he was testing the camera, but you can see that he's wearing white Nike sneakers. They look pretty new and they wouldn't have been cheap – but it's the next few pictures that are more interesting."

Vanessa took this as her cue and also began motioning to each picture in turn as she spoke. "Those two are of the warehouse in the basement of where I used to work. I recognise a couple of the people in the background. I've never been down there, but I've seen those guys around the offices and I know they work in that area – and those are Compute-Soft products on the shelves."

She tapped on the final picture, which was of two men. It was clear to Frank that she was most excited by this one. "And _this _is my old boss, Mr Bale, the one who had the temerity to fire me."

"Who's that with him, with his back to the camera?" Fenton asked.

"That I don't know. But if you look closely, you can see Mr Bale's handing the guy some money," Vanessa opted to unpin the picture and pass it physically to the older Hardy to look at more closely. "And it's a lot of cash!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"So the attack on Van _is_ connected to her ex-workplace," Con muttered, taking his turn to view the photograph of Nick Bale handing a pile of cash to another man. "What is it that's got them so rattled about you, Vanessa?"

"Dunno," she answered with a shrug.

Con looked from Frank to Joe in turn. "Do any of the people in the background of the warehouse picture like the guy who ambushed Vanessa?"

They both looked keenly at the photographs, but simultaneously shook their heads.

"I don't know any of them. I think our guy is more likely the person on the other side of the camera taking the shots," Frank suggested.

Joe nodded, "The white Nike sneakers looked very similar to the footwear the guy was wearing at the time." He looked across at his father, "The money aspect is interesting. Why is Mr Bale handing someone a wad of cash, and why is it being photographed?"

"—Are questions that we might get answers to when we find out what calls were made from that phone," Fenton said.

The room was plunged into silence as everyone except for Frank stared in bewilderment.

"How are we going to find that out? The cell's mush." Joe pointed out, putting into words what everyone was thinking. "Without at least the telephone number, that clue is meaningless."

Fenton swept his arm towards Frank who took this as a prompt to continue. Impulsively he stepped in front of the pin board and Vanessa took a respectable step back toward the others. "As it turns out, we _can_ find out that information."

Joe folded his arms. "Explain, dude."

"Have faith, Bro!" Frank chided and gave his brother a playful dig. "When we took it to one of the cell phone stores, they explained that underneath the battery on every cell there's an individual serial number. If we take that number to the Central Equipment Identity Register, it can be cross-referenced to find the cell phone number."

Fenton took over: "And that's where James comes in as he has access to all the police database systems." He turned to the young police officer. "We need you to do the tracking for us. It may be that the perp has re-registered the same number with a new phone, and if that's the case, we'll be able to track him easily. But whatever you find out, the one thing we really need is the list of calls made from that phone." Fenton held a piece of paper out to James.

James accepted the offering and touched the peak of his cap. "Sure thing, Mr H."

"Good man." Con slapped his nephew on the back.

"Thanks James," Fenton gave him a quick smile before continuing. "Unfortunately, although the store had a record of the phone being sold, the guy paid in cash, so he's untraceable from that direction."

"Pre-pay cell?" Con asked.

"Yep, no contract involved."

Frank spoke up again. "Vanessa was right about how new the phone was. It was only bought last week."

"That's right," Fenton agreed. "There was an invoice, but no identifying markings other than a 'paid in cash' stamp."

Vanessa suddenly gave a gasp. "Invoices!" she shouted out.

Fenton pulled out a folded piece of paper and started unfurling it. "That's what I said, but not invoice-ssss, just one invoi—"

"NO!" Vanessa flapped her arms and hands at Fenton. Startled, he staggered back, the suddenness of her movements silencing him.

James started to laugh, followed by Frank – it made him think of _Kermit the Frog_.

"No, I don't mean that…I mean…I just remembered something – something I didn't even consider might be important, but it could be."

"Go on, girl." Con encouraged.

"The day before I got canned, I noticed a couple of discrepancies with the invoicing. Nothing massively wrong, just mistakes. I raised it with Nick, but Mr Bale told me I'd got it wrong. But now, with seeing him on this photo, I'm doubting everything he said to me."

"So when you say there were problems with the invoicing, are you saying companies are being charged too much?"

"Only in one case, with the other it was Compute-Soft who lost out. As I said, it was a handful of instances that I found, so I just didn't think twice about it."

"Who's Nick?" Fenton asked.

"He was my immediate manager. He gave me the creeps – barely ever spoke to me, and then when he did he'd just stare at these all the time." She pointed towards herself and all the men's eyes automatically dropped to her chest area. She went crimson and started to pull her cardigan about herself.

"SO—" Frank said loudly, and put his hand on Joe's forearm, knowing what was happening in his brother's head and that it was likely to involve Nick turning on a spit being roasted over an open fire. "This Nick character is a suspect, as is Mr Bale." Frank knew what he had said was obvious, but it did the trick of diverting people away from Joe's girlfriend's assets. "Explain about the invoices, in what way were they suspect, Van?"

"One company had been invoiced in full for a software package they didn't receive – or I should say, not the one they ordered. And another company ordered a high spec software package, but they didn't get it and were only charged for the one they got. They probably thought they'd got an unexpected bargain."

Frank frowned and turned to look at the photograph of Mr Bale. When he switched back, he saw that everyone else's eyebrows were just as sunken. No one 'got it', it was nonsensical. "This can't be just about invoicing, there must be more to it for someone to go after Vanessa. If it really _is _that, there's far more to the story then meets the eye."

"I think—" James started to say, and then caught himself, his demeanour suggesting he feared he had overstepped the mark as an outsider to the agency.

"Go on, dude," Joe encouraged.

James glanced at Con who nodded. "I think that even if it's nothing to do with the invoicing that one of you should somehow get into that company and do a bit of nosing around on the inside. You're not going to get any quick answers here by jerking around with photographs and phone records."

Frank looked at Joe and raised his eyebrows. "Makes sense. But if we're going to do that, it will have to be someone with good computer skills…a nerd even. And someone who isn't going to assault Nick on sight"

Joe gave a wicked grin and looked him up and down. "If the shoe fits then—"

"No!" Fenton cut in forcefully.

There was a heavy pause before Con asked. "No?"

"Frank's not ready to be put into the field solo."

"Dad, I—" Frank began, but he was overlaid by Con who put a silencing hand against his forearm.

"Fen, I know you're worried, but you're going to have to start trusting Junior sooner or later. Did you see the way Frank went after that guy who pushed Vanessa? That's not someone without ability. He's ready for this."

"He might be, but I'm not."

"It's not about you Fenton, this is about Frank, about when _he_ feels he's ready."

Frank nodded emphatically and stated his case. "Dad, I'm up for this and I'm in good shape, in every way. This assignment was made for me, I'm the only one who can pull it off. No one would take Joe seriously as a computer nut, and you and Con haven't the knowledge base. Let me do this."

Fenton glared at Con for some long seconds before eventually settling his gaze on Frank. "Okay. But we make sure you've got back-up so that if anything goes wrong we can get help to you."

Frank sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair before nodding his accord.

*****

The plan for the next day was for Joe and Vanessa to stake out the Compute-Soft offices in order to note when Mr Bale arrived at the office each morning and from what direction.

Con, ever the protector, had ensured Vanessa's safety by accompanying her home that night, giving Joe and Frank time to plan their next move. He had also opted to accept the offer of a bed again, just in case the Benders' received any further uninvited guests, but all had been still. So it was a quiet and very normal morning for Vanessa when she arose.

The first thing she noticed was that she felt so much better. The stiffness of limbs that had dogged her the previous day had gone, the arm not so sore. She showered, did her make-up and hair, dressed and headed down, the smell of waffles and bacon wafted up the stairs at her as she slowly descended.

Unusually, Andrea was up and about. Her mom was not a morning person – being self employed, there was no need for her to be, so Vanessa took this as a sign that her mother was worrying about her well-being. Entering the kitchen, Vanessa was not disappointed that the breakfast being prepared was not just for her mother alone. That there was, in fact, more than enough for all three of them. "Where's Con?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders. "Still asleep, I guess." She looked down at Rebel who was sitting at her feet gazing up and making his best watery, half starved eyes at her. Andrea picked up a piece of bacon and dropped it from shoulder height, laughing as Rebel grabbed it mid-fall with a snap of his powerful jaws. "This mutt is a talented beast."

"Should you be feeding him bacon? Doesn't Con have him on some sort of specialised diet?"

Andrea licked her upper lip and let it turn into a sardonic and slightly evil looking grin. "Apparently so – but every man needs his red meat, canines included."

"Won't that cause problems for Con…I mean, won't Rebel expect the same treatment when he goes home?"

"Well…"

"Mom, you're bad – I can practically see horns growing through your hair!"

"Shush, not so loud, I've a good girl image to uphold." Andrea plonked a plate of waffles down in front of her daughter, followed by a smaller plate housing neat strips of bacon. "Eat."

Vanessa immediately dug in and tried to ignore Rebel who had now swapped his devoted attention from Andrea to her. His head was close to the height of the tabletop so he was able to watch intently as any food entered Vanessa's mouth, his head smoothly following every movement. "Go away!" she eventually said through a mouthful of waffle.

Andrea giggled and shooed him out of the kitchen. She returned seconds later and shut the door so Rebel couldn't get back in. "You got mail." She said and dropped down a white, hardback envelope next to Vanessa's plate.

Vanessa picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite before putting it down and licking her fingers so she could turn her attention to the letter. She prised open the flap and pulled forth what was inside.

What her eyes fell on caused her jaw to stop working and her throat to close up preventing any hope of swallowing.

"What is it?" she heard her mom say in the background, but her mind was greatly preoccupied by what she was looking at. Her heart began racing and her stomach threatened to upturn any breakfast she had managed to put away before being accosted by her poisonous morning mail. "No way!" she muttered finally and forced the bacon down her throat.

"_Baby?"_

It was a photograph, about the same size as the ones that she herself had printed off yesterday from the cell phone's flashcard, but printed on thicker, more expensive photographic paper. It was her and Frank with their arms around each other. Frank's and her faces were angled in such a way that it appeared they were kissing – one of Vanessa's hands was wrapped around his arm and holding it closely against her body and the other was on Frank's other bicep. His one hand was resting on the side of her head and the other out of sight around her back. There were no two ways about it, it looked bad…really really bad!


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank's for the lovely feedback, dudes! :-D**

****

* * *

**Chapter 11**

She shook her head, her first instinct to scrunch up and obliterate the poisonous image of her and Frank apparently kissing, but managed to stop before she damaged any more than the edges. Then inexplicably it was gone from her hands as it was snatched away, leaving just a residual ghostly after-burn against her fingertips. She looked up at her mother who was inspecting it for herself before turning to meet her gaze with an expression Vanessa didn't like. "Don't Mom, please don't believe it, it's not true, it's a trick!"

Then as quick as Andrea's expression was apparently accusatory, it was softening into a different shape, "I—"

"—It's not real!" Vanessa automatically protested and jumped up to tear photograph away before thrusting it back into her mother's face. "You know me, and you know Frank, we would NEVER do something like this to Joe and Nancy."

Andrea attempted to interrupt again, "But I—"

"It's a trick! You know I love Joe and Frank practically idolises Nancy, she's every bit his equal."

Andrea managed to finally shut her daughter up by reaching to grip her firmly by the shoulders. "Sweetheart, I know, you don't need to convince me. I deal in that industry myself remember. Photos do lie – taken at the right angle, in the right light, with the right editing, you can convince someone of anything. But no one knows you as well as I do, and I know you'd never do what that picture is implying. It just gave me a shock."

A tear welled up in the corner of Vanessa's eye and burst over the edge to slide down her cheek.

Andrea reached up and swept it away. "I believe you," she reiterated and clucked her chin.

"Thank you." Vanessa choked out and allowed her mother to pull her into a hug. She laid her cheek against her mom's shoulder and Andrea rubbed between her shoulder blades. Then the all consuming panic was back again and she pulled herself free of her mother's maternal embrace. "What am I going to say to Joe? I don't know what to do!"

"Shushhhh, we'll think of something," Andrea said reasonably and continued stroking her shoulders as Vanessa leaned her hand against the counter, the other still clutching the picture.

The door to the kitchen opened as someone entered, the tinkle of Rebel's chain collar accompanying the sound. _"Do I smell bacon? Sure smells great. I hope you haven't been feeding any to my ol' pal Rebel here though—"_ It was Con, "—uh oh, something's going down, isn't it?…Van?"

Vanessa watched the photograph being stolen from her fingers again and leaned her elbows on work surface to bury her face into her hands.

"What the hell?"

Vanessa groaned and pleaded pathetically, "It's not true, Con!"

"But—"

"_Con Riley!" _Andrea said, drawing out his name, low and menacingly.

Vanessa came out from under and stormed across the kitchen. "It's NOT TRUE Con…dammit!"

"Then when—?"

"It must have been taken at that club I went to with Joe and Frank a few days ago, the day Frank came home. We were talking before Joe arrived; the music was so loud we had to lean into each other to hear. No kissing was involved other than maybe on the cheek – and I don't even remember _that_ happening! Who is doing this to me? What do they want?"

Raising his eyebrows, Con motioned to the open envelope still on the table.

Vanessa snatched it up, slid her fingers in and pulled out a piece of folded up paper that had failed to be drawn out at the same time as the damning photograph. Opening it up with shaky fingers, she read aloud what was printed on it:

"…Drop the list into the first trash can you come to by the main gates at Bayport Municipal Park at 12.00 midnight tonight. Failure will result in your boyfriend finding out about your betrayal. Come alone and do not involve the police or it will be the same outcome. Do not test me, Vanessa Bender...."

"What list? I don't _have_ any sort of a list!" Vanessa said as Con took the paper from her to have a look for himself.

"Are you sure?" Con asked.

"Yeah I'm sure."

"You didn't bring anything home that you didn't take back to Compute-Soft?"

"No I didn't…I…wait a minute, there _was_ something, but it was the proof to a newsletter I was working on, not a list. It is upstairs in my closet in my portfolio bag.

"Go get it."

Vanessa left the kitchen and clattered up the stairs to her bedroom zoning in on her closet. The bag was where she had left it, but on its side, having presumably been knocked over when she and her mother had hidden there two nights ago. She grabbed it and headed back downstairs again to where Con and her mother were still both waiting.

Andrea moved the breakfast plates away and Vanessa dropped the bag down and unzipped it to pull the flaps open and extract the plastic encased paperwork. "See, just a draft of the newsletter," she said, pulled it free of the folder and turned each page over, until: "Oh!" There, at the back of all that colourfully designed artwork was the invoice list that the blackmail note must have been referring too.

Vanessa grabbed Con's forearm in surprise. "I remember now. I took a photocopy of my notes before turning over the originals to Nick. I didn't want to lose them completely, I wasn't sure I'd get my folder back."

"And there's the reason why they're so rattled at Compute-Soft!"

"I was in a rush to leave work and must have accidentally scooped it up at the same time as the newsletter."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Con asked.

Vanessa and Andrea looked blankly back and waited.

"It means that someone at Compute-Soft saw you making those copies, and saw you taking them home. And it's too much of a coincidence that you were sacked the following Monday. Either Mr Bale himself has been watching you, or this Nick bud, or a mole at the company. Either way, Mr Bale is up to his eyeballs in something illegal, and it must be so much worse than simply questionable invoicing."

Andrea caught onto his way of thinking. "That must have been what that man was after the other night!"

"That's right. All the more reason to get Frankie-boy in there undercover, no matter what Fenton thinks."

Vanessa sighed. "Right now, I've got a way bigger problem." And to illustrate her point, she picked up the photograph. "What am I going to do about this? Joe will freak if he sees it! I'll just have to leave it in that bin, I'm not allowing this to come between the brothers, they've been through so much."

Con tipped his head and said gently. "On the contrary, you're going to tell Joe the truth, you never give in to blackmail, it always opens up a whole can o' worms, and if Joe found out after the event, it would make you look even more guilty. But before that, I'm going to take you over to Frank's place because no one knows Joe better than you two. Between you, you'll come up with a plan to handle it. Go and get ready."

Vanessa looked towards her mom for any further advice, but found that she apparently had nothing to offer. In fact, Andrea was not even looking at her; she was gazing intently at their houseguest and rubbing absently at Rebel's head. Then Vanessa turned to Con again to find that he was looking back at Andrea with his brows puckered.

"I'll have to take a rain check on that bacon," he said.

*****

Con pulled up outside Frank's apartment building, Vanessa in the passenger seat next to him. "Do you want me to come up with you?"

"I think I'll be okay. It's not Frank's reaction I'm worried about, it's Joe's." Vanessa prepared to get out, opening the door a crack but then turned back. "Thanks Con. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been there talking sense." On a whim, she leaned across and aimed a quick peck to Con's cheek, but at the last second he dodged and she got his jaw line instead.

Con went bright red. "No problem," he muttered quickly, embarrassed. "Good luck, kiddo," he finished and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Vanessa finally unfurled from the car and pulled her bag onto her shoulder before taking a deep, cleansing breath. She dipped and waved at Con, who returned the gesture and then trotted towards the main entrance. The car did not pull away immediately – she knew Con would be watching until she entered the relative safety of the building. As soon as she was opening the door, she turned and raised her hand again and Con peeled away from the curb and drove off.

She went to the elevator and pushed the call button. It opened immediately so she entered and pressed for Frank's floor. Just as the door began its slide, she heard someone yell, so switched her finger quickly to the open button as a man dove in sideways and grinned a thank you. He reached over and lit the third floor button and this time the door closed fully and the car started its ascent.

"It's goin' to be a fine day," the stranger said from behind.

"Looks that way," Vanessa muttered vaguely, not prepared to get into a discussion. She was far too preoccupied to even look at him properly.

He took the hint not offer any further thoughts as to the weather and went quiet. As soon the car reached his floor, he stepped out with a last "Obliged to you, Miss." The door shut again and Vanessa was taken to Frank's floor.

His front door was near enough right opposite the elevator, so it was a case of taking just a couple of steps and Vanessa was there. She rapped and waited for him to answer.

Presently, she saw the peephole go dark as an eye was put to it, then the door was unlocked with a series of clicks and clanks and Frank's surprised face peered around the doorjamb with a phone against his ear. "Nan, I gotta go, Van's here!" he said, his voice full of curiosity. He smiled and his face became softer as Nancy said something to him and then he looked at Vanessa again. "Nan says 'Hi'".

"Tell her 'hi' back," Vanessa requested.

"She heard," Frank answered. "Come in, Van." He pulled her through before shutting the door again, double locking it and putting on a chain – the whole time continuing his conversation with his girlfriend. "I do too…you be careful though, yeah?" He burst out laughing, "…you're not lying!…Ditto gorgeous…bye." He cut the call and turned back to Vanessa. "Nan's on a case and it's getting a bit hair raising by the sounds of it."

"The natural way of things!"

"That's exactly what Nancy said." Frank led her through to the living room.

"That was a lot of door locking, Frank."

"Yeah? I suppose it was, force of habit," he said and then swiftly changed the subject. "Change of plan? I thought we were meeting at Joe's houseboat?"

"A total change of plan. Something's happened that involves you and me, something that will impact on Joe in a big way…and I don't know what to do about it."

Frank turned back mystified. "What do you mean 'involving us'? Involving us how?"

Vanessa dropped her handbag down on Frank's glass dining table and unzipped it to get at the envelope. She pulled out the photograph and held it facedown against her front and locked eyes with Frank. "This morning, this arrived at the house." Her voice cracked mid-line.

"I don't like the sound of that!" Frank said. He took the photograph and turned it so he could see what it was, surveying it with total, un-reactionary silence and a frozen stillness. He was so unmoving and for such a time that Vanessa feared it had shocked him into a paralytic state. Eventually, she opted to prompt him back. "Frank?" she asked gently, laying her hand against his forearm.

His eyes slowly rose to look back at her, and what she saw made her pull her fingers clear. Frank's eyes were not his anymore – they were dark and emotionless, cold even, so blank that she felt in danger of being sucked in, hypnotised.

With a great amount of self-control, Vanessa tore her gaze away and swallowed down the uneasiness to delve for the other piece of paper from the envelope, not wanting to look at him for a few seconds.

Frank spoke: "If whoever sent this intends on torturing Joe and driving a wedge between us, then he's made a mistake he'll regret." The words were delivered in a controlled, even way, without a glint of incredulity.

This was not the reaction Vanessa had expected, she thought Frank would at first be confused, then angry, and then finally – the natural state for Frank – he would have gotten practical. This response was wholly unforeseen! Frank did not verbalise in what way the guy would be 'sorry', but the icy quality of his eloquently delivered words spelled it out as clearly as if he had written his intentions on the side of a billboard...in two feet high lettering.

She now understood the experience Joe had described to her that had happened in a bar when they had been on their motorcycle break; a description the younger Hardy had found difficult to transcribe into words. Frank had apparently driven off a gang of men who had decided to give a girl a hard time in a bar, dispatching them without even lifting a finger or leaving his chair. Joe had hated how impersonally Frank had dealt with them, it had unnerved him – but if this was an example of that, Vanessa, by contrast, liked it. It was freaky, it was dangerous, but it made her feel safe.

Clearly the therapy sessions Frank had attended had not entirely ridded him of this newer, and some would say, less palatable personality trait. Perhaps he had purposefully retained it, kept his serpent in its cage, fed it, nurtured it, and kept it safe and hidden from the attention of his therapist, only to release it when he required its assistance…like now. It had been coiled up asleep, but waiting, and now it was hearing the call and was obeying. Raising its head and rearing up, head swaying and eyes blinking in the sunlight, tasting the air, sensing the threat, readying itself to strike.

She hoped Frank was in control of it and not the other way around.

Not knowing what else to say, she simply handed Frank the blackmail letter to read, which he did before nodding and saying: "Whoever is doing this has a weak personality and spirit. I can use that, twist and destroy him." The fingers belonging to the hand and arm hanging down against his thigh twitched into talons.

Vanessa interrupted his thoughts. "But what about Joe?"

Frank blinked and Vanessa watched his expression relax again. _"Yes, he's the one in control,"_ she realised with relief.

Vanessa knew for sure now that Frank was back for good and that he would never leave his brother's side again, or the people he cared about, and that he would take the bullet for any of them – probably dispatch the bullet straight back at the bad guys!

"I think we should go see Joe. Be truthful with him. He'll probably flip at first, but I'm sure we'll be able to talk him down. He trusts us both implicitly, no way he'll believe deep down that either of us are capable of that kind of betrayal."

"That's pretty much what Con said."

He must have read something in her expression; perhaps some deeply entranced numbness of doubt despite his and Con's words. He reached out and pulled her into a brotherly hug. "Don't worry, Van, we'll sort it out, it'll be okay, I promise. You believe me, don't you?"

Vanessa nodded and leaned her cheek on his shoulder for another few seconds before stepping back out of his arms, she had been crying a little but had not realised it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Friendly Warning: If you are allowing children to read this story, check the first scene of this chapter first.**

****

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Con stepped up to Andrea's doorway, pressed the bell and started inspecting his fingernails. The door was opened seconds later, much quicker than he was expecting. It made him jump. _"Why does this woman make me so nervous? Pull yourself together, Riley!"_

"Forget something?" Andrea asked.

"My badge, on the bedside table. I'll just get it and be out of your hair." He loitered until she moved away from the door to allow him entry. As he stepped into the entranceway, Rebel bounded forward to greet him and he spent a few seconds crouched and giving him a rub down. "Yeah, I miss you too, pal," he said. When he stood upright again, Andrea was still there, standing at the foot of the stairs, practically barring his way.

"Vanessa?" she asked.

"Dropped her off at the front of Frank's building, she's okay." He hooked his thumbs into his waistband.

She shuffled her feet a couple of times uncomfortably. "Erm…I feel I owe you an apology."

"Apology ?"

"For being wrong about you. You're not the oversized lug I thought you were."

Con shrugged. "Can't say I blame you, I do have lug-like qualities. I've done an awful lot of lugging in my time. I lug here, and I lug there, always been a lugger. I love the thrill of a good lug. Lug is my middle name…Con 'Lug' Riley, that's what they call me. Isn't that right, Rebel?"

"You talk too much."

"And you're judgemental."

He had volleyed his slur right back at her, barely thinking, a reactionary throwback. He was not prepared this time to let Andrea get the upper hand where the implied insults were concerned. He had helped out enough not to deserve it, and he had just about had his fill trying to make friends, having to duck the glares, barely disguised insinuations and attempts at undermining his doggy regimes.

Her eyes narrowed and she inspected him up and down. "You have no dress sense, either," she continued, childishly.

His head tipped to one side. _"What's going on?" _he wondered. Nevertheless, he set his puzzlement aside and opted to continue, too heated to be able to stop now: "Woman – you are way too vain to be pointing the finger."

She gasped, "_You're_ sexist."

"And? _You_ hate men!"

Her hands went to her waist and she grimaced as Con smirked, knowing he had back footed her.

"I don't—" she began before catching herself. "You're over protective!"

"You hold grudges!"

"You're clumsy!"

"You never back down!"

"You have to be the boss!"

Con grunted, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "You can talk…you could boss for America. In this household, it's your way or the highway." He made a sardonic and large circular motion with his arm to encompass the whole house. "And then when you do compromise, it's only really to your own advantage."

Andrea's mouth dropped open and an incredulous look passed across her face. She stalked across the hallway and Con readied himself for the oncoming attack, hands coming out protectively. Halting, she grabbed and twisted his shirtfront to yank him down, her lips a tight white line. "You're no gentleman," she spat, only an inch separating their faces now.

He braced, preventing her from pulling him any further and indicated to her fists. "Yeah? Well apparently you're no lady either, so I guess that makes us just about even."

There was a short pause in proceedings as they nailed one other with equally ferocious glares before they were simultaneously grabbing, mauling, ripping and kissing, hard and fast.

Con was unsure how it happened, or who started it, but one minute his shirt was on, the next it was gone and somewhere on the floor along with several buttons. He leaned into her, his weight causing Andrea to stagger and she took him with her, both colliding into the wall.

"Brute!" she muttered and smiled suggestively, daringly.

So he called her dare and yanked her top out from around her waistband and pulled it up. Andrea raised her arms high as he peeled it free of her body to cast it aside along with his shirt. His large palms moved to her face and held her steady as they breathlessly kissed again, his fingers burrowing into her hair and feeling her hands roving all over the dip of his back leaving scorch marks .

A tightness was rising in his belly and his lips were tingling, making him light-headed and giddy and hot, all sense of the here and now evaporating. The only awareness being that unobtainable and beautiful blonde woman in front of him and in his arms – the one he had been desiring for so long, the one that drove him crazy, the one he just could not walk away from…the one who was now pressing up against him every bit as hard as he was her. _"It had been a long long time…too damn long!"_

"_Wait…wait…"_ she gasped out finally, slicing through the haze. One arm slithered around to his front and a palm laid itself on his chest to push. There was nowhere for her to retreat to as she was still sandwiched between him and the wall.

He did not let go of her face, but he did step back. Pinning her with teasing hazel eyes, he raised an uncharacteristically cocky eyebrow. "You can't stop bossing, can you, not even for an instant?"

She batted his hands away and started exploring his chest and midriff. "Shut up, you lug. I want to see what you've been hiding under all those baggy shirts – have you been working out?"

"Fen's very encouraging."

"Thank God for Fenton Hardy."

"Don't you ever just relax, woman?"

"It's hard to relax around you detectives. You men are dangerous to know."

"And don't you women just love it?!"

She laughed and he dropped to physically lift her off her feet. Being smaller than her lofty daughter, Andrea weighed very little, even less when her jeaned legs wrapped themselves around his middle. He headed down the hall with her; the only other accompaniment being her fervent unfathomable whisperings, punctuated with kisses and nibbles against his lips, face and neck – Rebel had taken the hint and made himself scarce.

As Con mounted the stairs, the thought did not even enter his head as to how they were going to explain this to Vanessa and Joe. Right at that moment, as he was throwing her onto the bed, he was so hungry that he could not have cared any less if this lasted one morning or a lifetime. And neither apparently could she, illustrated by the way Andrea reached and dragged him yearningly down to his knees and began working on unfastening his belt buckle.

*****

Afterwards, as they were lying with limbs interwoven, staring at each other across the pillow and processing what had happened; Con smoothed a tendril of blonde hair away from Andrea's forehead and admitted, "I didn't really come back to get my badge, that was an excuse."

Andrea smiled. "I know you didn't. I'd already cleaned the room. I knew it wasn't here."

"Deceitful woman!"

"Manipulative man!" She scooted closer and kissed him softly again, searchingly, tasting.

Con felt like he had won the lottery – _him, Con Riley, the rough, scruffy kid from the wrong side of the tracks had bagged himself the rich prom queen!_

*****

The closer Frank's car took them toward the marina and Joe's houseboat, the further Vanessa felt herself slipping down in the passenger seat. Frank kept repeating that she need not worry, but her internal alarm system was a booming claxon, warning her that this was not going to be a smooth voyage on Captain Joe's ship.

Presently Frank was swinging his red Corvette convertible into an available space in the small parking lot next to the walled garden of the Marina's neighbouring property. He turned off the engine and turned to Vanessa. "You ready?"

"No."

"All-righty-then!" he said and climbed from the car.

Vanessa followed on after him around the vehicle and trotted to catch up, clutching her purse to her chest like a shield. But then she caught sight of the white envelope containing the damning photograph and blackmail note, clasped tightly in Frank's fingers and lost her nerve. She hooked onto his elbow and pulled him to a standstill, just short of entering the marina's entrance tunnel. "Wait!"

He turned in surprise.

"Not so fast."

"Van, stop stressing."

"Just let me—"

"Okay." He waited for her to collect herself.

She took a couple of purging breaths while staring at Frank's feet, and then finally nodded her acceptance of the inevitable. So they continued and made their way through the tunnel and came out onto the pier itself. Joe's boat was now fully in view, being the fifth moored on the left. There was no turning back now; Joe would be watching their approach every bit as clearly as they were viewing his houseboat. Nowhere to hide.

And she was right, as soon as they were pulling themselves up onto the deck, the front door was opening.

"You dudes took your time. I thought we were due to meet an hour ago. If I'd known you were going to be this late, me and Rufus-boy would have had a sleep in." Joe turned and jumped down the steps into the seating area and headed straight for the kitchenette before either of them had entered the boat fully.

Frank went first, Vanessa taking her time behind him, so much so that Frank glanced back to check that she was still there. But that quickest look told her something that Frank had managed to thus far internalise – there was just the slightest, miniscule hint of unease. Frank was not as confident as he had made out.

Joe was now at the refrigerator, taking out mini cans of Diet Coke.

"Bro," Frank said.

"Yeah, I know. I guess we're too late now to trail Mr Bale, so we're going to have to come up with an alternate plan. Everyone okay with a Coke? I've also got Dr Pepper, non-alco beer and—"

"Bro!" Frank said again, a little louder this time. "Never mind that, we need to talk to you."

Joe pulled his head out of the refrigerator and turned his attention fully on them. "What about?" Then his eyes fell on his girlfriend. "Van…Babes, you're white as a sheet!"

"I—"

But Frank talked across her, stepped deftly into the leader role and moved forward a couple of paces. "We have to show you something. But we need you to not jump to the wrong conclusions before you've heard us out. Yeah? Keep an open mind – don't fly off the handle. Okay?"

Joe frowned and swung the door shut before walking around the breakfast bar to approach them. "Okaaaay."

Frank ran his forefinger and thumb across the top of the envelope and then gave it a flick, drawing Joe's attention to it. "I'm going to show you something now, but what you're going to see isn't what appears to be happening. I need you to keep that thought in your head."

"Guys, you're starting to freak me out. What's going on?"

Vanessa was impressed with Frank's smoothly delivered lines and the way he was holding Joe's blue eyes in the firm gaze of his sincere brown ones.

"Look, Frank, just show me whatever it is. It can't be that bad!"

"Bro – it is that bad." Frank assured him and opened the envelope. Not breaking his gaze, he pulled out the picture. As opposed to how Vanessa had shown it, Frank turned it instantly around and held it up for Joe to see.

Joe looked at the picture, looked back up at Frank, across to Vanessa and then back at it. Then he staggered and his shoulders began to tense.

Frank turned to Vanessa. "Get out," he ordered.

"What?"

"Out, get out, now…move it!" He gave her a shove and she took to the steps, climbing two of them before, with a roar, Joe threw himself at his brother and propelled him across the room, the photograph and envelope sent fluttering into the air.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Joe thrust Frank with such venom and so hard into the corner that the whole boat was sent rocking and swaying, and if Vanessa had not had her hand on the door handle, she would have fallen.

Frank had been dead right in his prediction; Joe really was flipping out. But he had hideously underplayed quite how much he would lose it.

Vanessa could not leave, that would be the coward's way out – and besides, neither she nor Frank had done anything to rebuke themselves for. She was not going to simply abandon him to the consequences of something they had not done. So, changing direction, she went down instead of up to get involved and force Joe to understand, discarding her bag to the floor on the way.

By the time she got to them, Joe had already let Frank loose, well on his way to realising the misguided judgement call he had made. However, he was still looming, his placement preventing Frank from moving away without having to make physical contact again, so he was stuck. Joe was still shouting some pretty flavoursome phrases in Frank's direction, his adrenalin high refusing to cool his temper enough as to acknowledge the untruth illustrated in that venomous photograph.

Frank was not arguing back, he was simply standing stock still, watching guardedly and waiting for things to either take a turn for the worse or to peter out. Vanessa guessed he had put himself in the firing line so that when the flashpoint happened, he would be the one to take the brunt of Joe's anger and not her. Vanessa was not about to let that happen.

"Joe, stop it!"

She took her boyfriend by the upper arm to catch his attention, but she might as well have not been there. Then he pointed a stabbing finger into Frank's face and shouted: "Dude, you've only been back for five minutes, and already there's trouble and everyone's dancing to your tune!"

Frank's body jerked, like he'd been slapped in the face, and then he said coldly, "I've taken all the abuse I'm willing to take."

To Joe's benefit, he'd frozen as soon as the words had tumbled out of his mouth, appalled with himself.

Vanessa recognised that look in Frank's eyes, it was the same flat emotionless stare that she had witnessed back at the apartment. "That's enough!" she snapped and pushed her way in between them. "Joe, knock it off. You know very well that there's no one else other than you, and it will only ever be you. I'd never do what that picture is suggesting and deep down you know that." His gaze left Frank and flitted to her face, finally listening. "It's a lie, Joe, a poisonous and spiteful lie. A pathetic effort at blackmailing me…and you're falling for it – you're better than that!"

He frowned and then looked past her shoulder at Frank who solemnly held his gaze.

"And you know Frank would never do something like that too. Frank adores Nancy, not me, and I love you, Joe. Come back over to our side of the fence."

Joe looked from Vanessa, to Frank, and back again and then made then both jump by bellowing, "Son-of-a-Goddamn-bitch!" With a grunt, he turned on his heel and stalked away. Without a backward glance, he walked the entire length of the boat, booted his bedroom door open and entered before slamming the door shut. The boat rolled in rhythm with his undulating anger.

Although listening to the sound of renewed raging and thuds and bangs as her boyfriend took it out on the contents of the room, Vanessa knew one thing for sure – Joe had accepted that the photograph wasn't the derogatory evidence that the blackmailer had intended it to be. And it was the blackmailer and not Frank who was Joe's_ "Son-of-a-Goddamn bitch!"_

Frank stared thoughtfully towards the bedroom, his jaw muscles working feverously and reached out to take Vanessa's wrist sympathetically. Unfortunately, that compassionate physical connection caused her to burst into uncontrollable tears. He moved closer, but she waved his further attention off and went to slump down on the sofa.

Rufus was curled up there having barely moved the entire time the drama had been unfolding, but at the sound of Vanessa's misery, he opened one lazy eye to peer at her and a paw stretched out to lay itself down on her thigh.

Through the blurring of her tears, Vanessa saw Frank pass her on his way to Joe's bedroom.

"Stay there," he said and strode purposefully to the door. He pushed down on the latch and readied himself by stoically raising his chin and rolling his shoulders. Taking one final glance back, he quickly pushed the door open and took a couple of steps over the threshold, the sound of Joe's raised voice instantly becoming boomingly ear-splitting.

Vanessa expected that Frank would now shut the door, but he didn't the chance because instantly something struck him squarely in the chest, hard and heavy just under his chin – the sound of metal hitting flesh sickening and the choking noise Frank emitted even worse. He fell from the doorway and sprawled outright onto his back at Vanessa's feet, a small dumbbell that she recognised as one of her own came to rest by his knee.

Vanessa yelped and jumped up out of her seat, the suddenness of it shocking her senses into not crying anymore.

Rufus jumped nimbly up onto the sofa back to glare at them all.

"FRANK!" Joe shouted, mortified, coming quickly into the room. "Oh man…no way...no way!" He moved to his brother at a run.

Recovering her senses, Vanessa dipped down to help, Joe coming to Frank's other side.

"I'm sorry man, I wasn't aiming at you, one second it was a clear throw, the next you were just...there."

Frank began panting shallowly, unable to take in enough air or to speak.

"Take some deeper breaths," Vanessa ordered and rubbed his chest.

He did as he was told and forced himself to breath more evenly. Eventually, Frank rolled over onto his side and then made an attempt to sit up, Vanessa and Joe each placed a hand against his back to assist and Frank raised a palm to indicate that he was largely okay. He hacked a couple of times to clear his airway fully and sucked in a huge breath of air. Then he used Joe's sure arm to clamber to his feet. Letting go, but still hunched, Frank staggered past Vanessa to the faucet and set the cold-water running. He bent to drink straight from the tap.

Joe followed on and loitered silently at his shoulder, rubbing a red furrow into his forehead.

Vanessa's heart was as heavy for Joe as it was for Frank, Joe was clearly guilt ridden, his quietness evidence of it...Joe was not known for his self control where making noise was concerned; he lacked a volume control switch.

Without turning off the stream of water, Frank turned his back on them and gripped the edge of the counter for some long seconds with his head down.

Vanessa reached for Joe's hand and gripped on, but his returning hold was watery at best. She suspected though that it had more to do with his own self-disgust than being angry with her, feeling undeserving of her sympathy. If he had still been angry with her he would have shrugged her off.

Frank turned back to splash his face and take another drink. "I'm…" he started, but all that came out was a rasping noise, so he cleared his airway and tried again with more success, "I'll live."

Joe took a step closer, "Frank, I—"

That palm was out again. "It was an accident."

"I didn't—"

"Accident," Frank insisted. He reached out and gave Joe a one armed back-slap hug and then touched foreheads before separating. "I'm going to work. You talk."

"Don't do that yet," Vanessa said, "Give yourself five minutes."

"No, I'll go," Frank said with finality and crossed to the front door, his shoulders tight. Pausing for a second, he walked back and dipped to scoop up the photograph and envelope. "See you later," he muttered and slowly climbed the stairs and went. They watched until Frank's jeaned legs appeared on the pier and paced past the windows until he was eventually out of sight.

Only then could Vanessa pluck up the courage to look Joe directly in the eyes. She was shocked to see they were tearing up and that was an unusual occurrence for Joe Hardy. In all the years that they had been together, she could count on one hand the amount of times he had cried.

"I really hurt him, didn't I?" he said. "I messed up. I'm so sorry, Van, can you forgive me?"

With a tearful hiccup, of her own, Vanessa moved into his needy and warm arms. "Nothing to forgive."

*****

Con entered the office and Fenton looked up from his writing and did a double take. "Where you been?" he asked, coming out from behind his desk to meet him half way.

"Went to see if James had any information for us. Nothing as yet."

Con had not _completely_ lied. He had, in actual fact, just finished up a telephone call with his nephew, but he had not physically visited him. He coughed and danced around Fenton to settle down at his own desk. He felt strange, like his toes were floating, his feet not his own and levitating, his head about to strike the ceiling. He hoped Fenton couldn't tell.

Given the complicated nature of things, Con and Andrea had decided to keep what was happening to themselves, see where it was going before any announcement was made. Con could not believe it at first – Andrea Bender wanted to see more of him, it was not just a one shot deal! He felt his mouth starting to kink up, so he made and effort to straighten it. He needed to be tough and not get his hopes up; they had been dashed so many times in the past. Women just could not handle the line of work he was in, the fantasy of the uniform far more alluring than the reality of the constant danger and unsocial shifts.

Fenton folded his arms. "No one's been in all morning. Not seen hide nor hair of the boys, can't get hold of 'em, and no one's reported in."

"Ah, well something's happened that the kids are havin' to sort out."

Coming forward, Fenton leaned hands onto the end of Con's desk. "Why do I feel I've been left out of several loops? It's not good enough."

"Fen, don't get heated up. You haven't been left out of any loops, you just haven't been filled in on what's happened yet – I only know because I stayed at Vanessa's place again last night. There was an incident this morning with the boys and her…a worrying development."

Fenton opened his mouth to speak further, but the sound of the door opening interrupted and he swivelled towards the noise.

Frank entered and, without acknowledging their presence, moved rigidly across the office and wheeled his chair out from beneath his desk to sit down, automatically reaching to fire up his computer. He had the envelope in one hand, which he placed down, and some bottled water in the other. He unscrewed the bottle cap and put it to his lips to take a drink, but his hand shook so badly that coordination was a problem. He dropped the bottle down for a second and then tried again, this time managing to swallow down some of the liquid.

"What happened to you?" Fenton asked with concern.

Frank moved his head in a series of quick, jerky shakes.

"Joe happened to him." Con said quietly, making a fast, logical deduction. He stood and moved around to Frank. "You okay, Junior?"

"Just dandy," Frank answered and put down the bottle to massage his temples.

Fenton was now at Con's side. His brows sunk and he reached to pull at the neck of Frank's t-shirt. "Why's your chest bruising up?"

Frank swiped the hand urgently away. "Casualty of war."

"Did your brother do that?" Fenton's voice rose in volume.

"He didn't mean it…Con, haven't you told Dad what's going on yet?"

"No, I—"

"He didn't mean it," Frank repeated and his head went down as he muttered something under his breath. Something Con didn't quite catch, but sounded like _"...been carrying around the weight of all our lives in a suitcase..."_

"What?" Fenton asked.

Frank did that quick head shake again. "Nothin'." He almost sounded like a sulky teenager. He was hedging.

Fenton carried on, regardless of the pressure he was putting on his eldest. "I don't care about what's been going on, There's no justification for Joe putting his hands on you like that! I want an explanation."

"He didn't put his hands on me, I was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when he heaved a piece of training equipment."

"What does that mean – talk sense, boy!"

Frank placed his elbows on the table so he could lean his forehead on his fingertips and continue rubbing at the sides of his head. "Dad, please," he glanced beseechingly at Con.

Con took his cue. "Okay, usually I'd be as appalled by Joe's lack of forethought as you, Flash, but this is one of those rare examples where that hard and fast rule doesn't apply." He scooped up the envelope to hand it to his friend. "Check it out."

Fenton pursed his lips doubtfully and slid out the contents, his eyes opening like saucers as the photograph was revealed in all its sordid glory. "What the…?" He immediately opened up the letter and quickly read it before turning to Frank and thrusting the picture at him. "I sincerely assume this isn't true?"

"We were at the club, we were talking, the music was loud, Van was being affectionate, she might have hugged me – it was the first time she'd seen me since Seattle. No kissing happened…we were catching up." He sighed, the expression on his face and his stunted, drawn out articulation illustrating how much rehearsing he had done in his head to explain it away. "Besides which, we knew Joe would turn up at any moment, so us getting up to what that photo suggests is crazy. Nothing is happening between me and Van, never was, never will be. She's like my sister, it would be wrong on every level."

Fenton took a long reappraisal of the photograph. "Damn it looks authentic."

"I know it does, that was the whole point – Joe thought so too." Frank indicated to his chest. "And that's why you're not gonna have any sort of conversation with him about what happened at his houseboat. We're all going to ignore it unless _he_ wants to talk about it. Joe feels bad enough and I won't have his face rubbed in it. I want it kept between him and me. Just understand that it really was an accident, agreed?"

Both men nodded their understanding.

Frank sighed and put his palms over his eyes, "I wouldn't have told you about it at all if it wasn't so darned obvious Joe used a dumbbell as a tension release valve."

"But you're okay though?" Fenton asked.

"I'll live, no permanent damage—"

"That's not what I meant."

Frank came fiercely out from behind his hands, "I know exactly what you meant and the answer still stands – push your energy in a different direction, huh? It's wasted on me." He took another drink of his water. "Look, Dad…Con, I'm all debated out on the whole _'Vanessa-n-Frank-sittin'-in-a-tree'_, so can we explore what we're going to do about the blackmail demand instead? Because after today, I'm looking to kick some serious butt – starting with the person who sent Vanessa that heap of crap..." he pulled down the neck of his shirt to indicate to the bruising, "...the person who caused this!"

*****

"Everyone report in," Fenton muttered into his two-way radio.

"Frank callin' in."

"Con callin' in."

There was a pause, so Fenton prompted his youngest. "Joe?"

"Yeah, here."

Fenton dropped down the radio and carried on his vigil of sitting in the tree watching the municipal park entrance, waiting for Vanessa's arrival. There were still a few minutes to go, and his ass was getting cold…or rather, it was getting numb which made it seem cold. He shifted his position to get more comfortable, putting his back to the trunk and drawing his knees up.

Grinning, he remembered the argument he had had with Con, who really had not wanted to climb that tree. Said he was not_ "…gonna do it, no way, no how – end of discussion."_ Now he was in that tree, worrying instead as to how he was going to get out of it again. Con had eventually cracked under pressure when Frank had taken him aside and told him something that Nancy had told him – some sort of secret that Con did not want revealed. _"Hmmm…"_

Joe, in contrast, was quiet and dispirited, had been all evening.

He had not returned to the office that day having apparently opted for staying with Vanessa. Fenton suspected he had been so embarrassed that he had been unable to face them. When they had gathered at the designated rendezvous point – at the café across the road from the office – he had woven his way through the tables to the area with the sofas and low tables and had hunched down next to Frank. One glance at his brother's blackened chest and lower neck had caused him to flinch and his head wilt.

In response, Frank had dropped his arm over the back of the sofa to lay his palm against his brother's shoulder and begin tapping a rhythm. It was probably a testament to how badly Joe was hurting that he had not been irritated by it, which would usually have been his traditional reaction to Frank's tattooing habit.

No one mentioned the chest situation, or reacted to Joe's funk in any way, respecting Frank's wishes. But throughout the entire conversation, Joe'd barely offered even a splattering of contributory words, and had not looked directly at either his father or Con…but his solidly placed jaw and often clenched fists told a story of their own. He was keen for action, as keen as Frank to _'kick some serious butt'_.

Fenton's mind changed direction. "What's Con's little secret he doesn't want seeping out into the public domain. The shifty devil?" He muttered aloud. Con hadn't fooled Fenton when he had returned to the office late with the lame excuse that he had gone to see his nephew. "Never mind, I'll find out at some point, pry it out of Frank."

The swinging headlights of a car shunted Fenton's conscious thought back. He slid along the limb a little ways and craned his neck to see between the branches as a vehicle entered the parking lot and pulled up, not bothering to get between the white lines…as pre-arranged. Fenton put the radio to his mouth and said "Surf's up."

"_Con rogers that."_

"_Frank rogers that."_

"Joe rogers that…and is ready to kill!" "Yep, my boy is ready to keenly kick some criminal butt!" 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

While all the agency staff members were talking via their two-way radios in the park's trees, the car expelled Vanessa and a leashed Rebel onto the asphalt.

Although she had been instructed to come alone by the blackmailer, no mention had been made of her not taking along a dog. In addition to Rebel, she looked oddly bulked up, unnaturally so for the usually svelte Vanessa, courtesy of the body armour Con had acquired.

Without looking around her, Vanessa strode straight through the front gates and across the park until she came to the first trash bin and dropped a large envelope into it. Then she immediately, and without any hesitation or fuss, returned to the car, ushered a no doubt disappointed Rebel back in – if the droop of his tail was anything to go by – got in herself, and drove way.

"Good girl," Fenton muttered. "Drop's been made and she's safe," he said into the radio.

"Roger that."

"_Roger."_

"Got it."

All four of the agency men were placed in strategic spots throughout the park in the hope that they could track and then catch their prey as soon as he or she appeared. Frank was at the back entrance, Joe about half way along on the right and Con similarly angled, but on the left. All were in trees so that if someone should pass by, they would not be stumbled across.

Fenton fidgeted himself comfortable again, hanging his legs over the side and prepared for what could prove to be a long vigil.

Fifteen or so minutes later and he was rewarded for his patience as he spied a movement in the trees to the left. At first he thought it was the shadow of an animal, perhaps a stray dog, but then a man in black clothes stepped out and started making his way across the grass.

He was wearing a woollen hat, pulled down low over his ears and a cap on top of that, so it was impossible to make out any of the man's features. But he was solidly built; about Fenton and Joe's height, and from the way he was moving, probably closer to Fenton or Con's age. And it was definitely a man, not a woman in man's clothing.

"I got visual," Fenton muttered into the radio.

"_I see him too,"_ Con said.

"Radio silence, please," Fenton said, frightened the man would hear and be spooked. They needed to catch him red-handed, not have him change his mind and walk away. Fenton clipped the radio to his breast pocket and watched the man stride towards the waste bin. Just before he got there, he looked towards the parking lot and then did a complete 360-degree spinto check around himself. Satisfied, he went to the bin and looked in. With one final look about he put his arm in right up to his elbow and recovered the envelope.

Instead of returning the way he had come, he walked around the bin and headed for the other side of the park, passing almost directly underneath the tree the eldest Hardy was perched in, but not so closely that Fenton could simply drop down onto him. As the man re-entered the trees, Fenton pressed the broadcast button on his walkie-talkie and said, "I'm going after him."

"_I'm with you, buddy,"_ Con said.

"Me too," Joe muttered.

"Roger that, but I'm way off. Dammit!"

By the time all those reports had filtered through, Fenton was hanging by his fingertips from one of the lower branches. He allowed himself to drop, and with a controlled gasp, landed softly into a crouch. "Let's take him," he said, and then asked for radio silence again.

He made off across the grass and entered the trees where the man had disappeared just a matter of seconds earlier. Fenton paused just after and listened intently. Hearing a twig break a little way to the right, he began making his way towards their quarry, safe in the knowledge that at least Con and Joe had his back.

*****

Joe dropped out of his hiding place and instantly exited the canopy to sprint across the grass, hanging left of Con's position. The tree Joe had been in had ultimately prevented him from being able to see the guy coming for the paperwork, but Fenton's narration had been a godsend. Not only did he know Vanessa was safe, but also that the guy was on Con's side of the park. Now all he wanted to do was cash in his 'pound of flesh'…make the guy pay for how they had all been hurt by that picture.

Con was closer to him than his dad, so he thought it logical he should come from the other direction and cut the guy off. Between the three of them, they pretty much had their prey in a pincer movement, and if he tried to make off across the park to the back entrance, Frank would be there to take him down.

As soon as Joe plunged into the trees, he slowed his pace. It was very dark and he did not want to stumble and turn his ankle – he also didn't want to give himself away. Moments later, Joe found he had wandered into an area where the canopy was less thick and moonlight was stabbing through to the damp ground. It made him feel like a sitting duck, so he opted to step back into the shadows again, and just listen. He considered ruefully how Frank often said that listening was a virtue he lacked, and this seemed to have been borne out by the events of earlier on. This time, he was determined to prove Frank wrong.

Thirty seconds later it was pay dirt as Joe heard the unmistakable crackling of twigs underfoot. He crouched and looked in the direction of the noise as a man came out of the gloom into the dimly moonlit circle – a big man, moving slowly and deliberately. _"I see you!"_

But it was almost like the guy sensed something was unbalanced, a shift in the atmosphere perhaps, because he paused himself and his head began to turn towards where the youngest Hardy was. Joe held his breath and dropped his head so his dark hat was towards the suspect to prevent his light skin standing out against the darkness. He did not hear the man move for a few seconds, perhaps deciding if what he had seen was just a shadow, or his imagination, but eventually, Joe heard shuffled movements again. He dared a glance up and saw the man had his back to him once more.

Not wishing for the man to get any further away, Joe made a surprise charge forward to spring and cling onto the man's back, the plan to drive him into the ground and put a hold on him. The man staggered, but remarkably – despite the 190 pounds of blond muscle hitting him at full-thrust, managed to not only keep his balance, but stay firmly on his feet. Then Joe found his arms pinned as his prey turned the tables by grabbing hard onto his forearms and holding him in place.

"_Shit!"_ Joe thought as he experienced the rush of backward propulsion. He was slammed into the unyielding obstacle of a tree trunk and all air left his lungs. Then the guy let go with one hand and half turned to seize Joe by the back his sweater and fling him again into the same trunk. The back of Joe's head cracked stunningly against living wood and he was falling face first. But before he hit the ground entirely, one of his flailing arms was caught and held aloft and his wrist twisted at a painful angle.

Although Joe's head was swimming and doing the backstroke, it did not prevent him from realising that he had assumed the upper hand all that time, when really, the guy had _him_ fooled, turning the tables. He must have known he was there and decided to let Joe make the first move.

Joe wanted to spit.

A boot was introduced to Joe's armpit and a cuff snapped onto his wrist, then the foot was shifted heavily to the middle of his back and his other arm lifted and then…and then, everything simply stopped – the man had frozen at the sound of a familiar soft, metallic 'clank'. Then Joe heard another sound that was entirely unmistakable: _"Let him go, or I'll blow your head off. Your choice, but choose quick!"_

Joe realised what that clank had been; it had been Frank pulling back the slide on his gun and jacking a shell into the chamber. Joe had not even known Frank had armed himself!

"Frank, get that weapon out of my face, I'm cuffing him."

"Con?"

"Yeah…Con! Now help me before he comes to his senses, this guy's strong, well built."

"That's because it's Joe."

"Huh?" Joe heard Con's voice grow louder as he bent to check. "I don't damn well believe it!" he spluttered, and Joe found his arm was immediately dropped. "Sorry Champ, I thought you were him."

Joe rolled over and started rubbing the back of his head. "Too old for 'Champ'!" he grouched. "I thought you were him."

"I was hoping you were him," Frank joined in, disgusted and deactivated his firearm.

Frank and Con crouched to help Joe up, who stayed bent over for a few seconds until he regained his composure. Eventually he straightened up, arched his back and then cracked his neck before saying, "a piece of advice, bro, never jump on Con, he's unforgiving!"

"Over twenty years of experience. You think that's the first time someone's tried that trick? Too predictable, Joe."

"Where's Dad?" Frank piped up. "Have either of you seen anyone other than us?"

Con spoke up. "As soon as I saw our target I was getting out of the tree, not being a climber, I knew I had to move fast." He motioned off into the distance. "Fenton will be over there somewhere. The guy entered to go get the envelope, but by then I was mountaineering and didn't see him or your dad until I saw Fenton running after him about halfway along here."

"Con! That was me, not Dad!" Joe exclaimed.

Joe's eyes had now become accustomed to the dark and he could make out Con and Frank sharing a startled look.

"This has all gone to crap." Con said and pulled his two-way radio from his pocket. "Fen…report in," he requested, he waited a few seconds, but got nothing. "Fenton Hardy…report in." Then he realised that his walkie-talkie was not making any noise, not even the usual crackle when he depressed the broadcast button. He gave it a firm shake and slapped it against his palm a couple of times. It was dead.

Frank got his own radio out. "Maybe yours got damaged in the tussle," he suggested and raised his two-way to his face. "Dad, call in, where're you at?"

There was a burst of static and Fenton's voice came through loud and clear. _"Where am __I__ at? Where the hell are __you__?"_ and then there was an explosion of a gun going off, two rounds fired. The sound was pretty loud, but it sounded suppressed somehow, like a silencer was being used.

Joe immediately dropped down onto his haunches, whereas the other two stayed upright. It was a reaction to having been shot earlier in the year…it was not an experience he was rushing to endure again. He opted to stay down there and yanked his own radio from his belt, swallowing down the urge to start screaming.

Frank and Con had spun towards the noise. "Dad?" Frank yelled. "Dad, C'mon back, are you okay?"

Joe hardened himself, "Dad…answer us!" he barked, amazed at his own sudden control. "Dad?" Nothing more than dead air greeted their continued pleas.

"Split up, find your father," Con ordered, "I'm going over the other side; it sounds like the gunfire came from that direction." He raced away from them, simultaneously reaching under his jacket and down his body for his own weapon.

Frank looked down at his brother, processing and planning, the soft angle of his head showing he was empathetic as to why his brother was crouching low…but Joe knew Frank felt he did not have the benefit of time to be able to help. "Joe, did you arm yourself?"

"No."

"Double back to the tree Dad was in, maybe he'll head in that direction. If you find him, radio us, but don't put yourself in unnecessary danger."

"Gotcha."

Frank sprinted away leaving Joe to gather himself, which he did almost immediately by rising out of his crouch and turning in the opposite direction to head off at a full run through the greenery, darting trees. Eventually, he veered off at a sharp angle and plunged free of the coverage and out into open field. He pounded across the grass and up to the tree that his father had been hiding in earlier and flattened his back to the trunk.

Now that Joe was out in the open air, he could see the tracks his father and their suspect had made into the wooded area, the grass lying flat having been crushed down by footfalls. With a soft grunt, Joe quickly tied the loose ends together as to how all of them had misread the situation:

_1. Con __had__ seen the guy coming out for the paperwork, but then he had been getting out of his tree and had not witnessed the man passing across to the other side. _

_2. Because Con had said he had seen him and was also following, Joe and Frank had understood that the man was on Con's side of the park and had headed in that direction to cut off their prey._

_3. Of course, Fenton would not have known they had all gone the opposite way because he had requested radio silence. Thus, unbeknownst to all, he had become isolated._

As Con had so eloquently put it, it had all "…gone to crap!"

Joe laughed nervously, his breathing a little uneven, feeling foolish that he had allowed his fear to overtake and show itself publicly. He considered Frank's wise words of not putting himself in danger, and then decided to set that missive aside and follow on after his dad, his concern for his father's well-being outweighing his terror of being shot – and anyway, he had already been hurt that way once that year, so by utilising Vanessa's own theory, it was unlikely to happen again until he had won big on the lottery.

So he followed the tracks left by his father and entered the trees again. Once under the canopy, he paused. Using the power of elimination he decided that going towards the main park entrance was a waste of time – if their quarry had gone that way, he had be long gone by now and his dad would not have been wondering where his comrades were. Equally, it would have made little sense for the man to have gone straight on as that direction did not lead to the highway, simply onto farmland and eventually, after a long slog over muddy, ploughed fields, to Chet Morton's parents' farm. That left the back entrance, which was the direction Joe turned towards.

As he was making his way through the foliage at a gentle speed, eyes jerking to and fro taking in any movement, he retrieved his walkie-talkie from his belt and held it to his mouth; his intention to try and raise his father again. He pushed the button and went to speak, but then changed his mind and depressed the switch, tapping it thoughtfully against his chin. He had realised that if he made contact via the airways, Frank's radio would also discharge and would alert the potential gunman as to both his brother and father's positions. Of course, it could have been Fenton who had been the gunman, but there was no way of knowing that. Playing safe was the only alternative.

So he started to return the radio to his belt. Glancing down after missing with the first couple of swipes, he realised he still had ownership of the handcuff and that it was getting in the way. By the third attempt, he had successfully re-holstered the radio, but was then stumbling and falling to his hands and knees. Whatever he had tripped over had been large and relatively soft, not hard like a log or a stone.

Reversing gear, he looked to see a dark mound and then crawled to investigate closer. It was a body, laid on its front with the face turned away. Joe scrambled forward and pulled it towards himself to find it was Fenton. "Dad?" He quickly ran his hands over his father's body, but in the dark it was difficult to uncover what injuries he had suffered, but Joe could not find any large areas of wetness, so hoped that whatever had happened had not involved a bullet. Whatever the cause, Fenton was out for the count.

A cursory pulse check against the jugular and a hand against the chest proved that although Fenton's pulse was fluttery, he was breathing well. Joe thought it was most likely a temporary setback, although it would only be confirmed once his father was out in the open and a more thorough examination could be done. But he was alive and he had found him! Joe swallowed down his relief.

Then all at once hell came a-visiting…there was a distant warning shout from Frank, _"Con…CON…watch out!"_ and then a rapid erupting volley of ear-splitting gunfire.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

At the instant the gunplay commenced Joe froze, paralysed, and his heart started hip-tripping as raw fear and panic billowing throughout his chest and up into his throat, threatening to erupt out of his mouth. His body temperature began alternating between hot and cold and the skin under his clothes varnished immediately with a sheen of sweat. To stop himself from actually screaming, he crunched his teeth together and began panting through them. He wanted to run, but he couldn't move, could not abandon his father. He was stuck like the veritable rabbit in the headlights!

There was a return fire from above, three suppressed angry barks in quick succession before a third round of staccato gunplay from Con or Frank. A commanding shout from Con echoed: _"Stay down, Buddy!", _which was overlaid by Frank's equally authoritative:_ "Move…__move__!"_

Joe was going to die, he just knew it, he was looking clearly into the face of death, falling into the black void, spinning and spiralling out of control, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it! He was in the woods again, handcuffed, vulnerable, alone… waiting with absolute certainty for the agonising hit of a bullet slamming his body.

And then Joe found himself being covered in a shower of bark and leaves as searching bullets tore through the greenery once more – the shock of it short-circuiting his panic attack and galvanising him into action. Flinging himself over his father, he rolled them under an overhang and out of sight. He was embarrassed to hear himself whimpering, but it was out of his command. He clung to and buried his face into his father for comfort, like a snivelling schoolboy hiding under his parent's bedclothes in the mistaken belief that if he could not see the bogyman, the boogeyman could not see him. He was disgusted with himself.

The bullets stopped as quickly as they had begun and Joe lifted his head, praying that the gunplay was over, just in time to witness a pair of booted feet slap down just a few feet away and tear off running. With the person's back to him, Joe could not hope to see what he or she looked like, but from what he saw, it was an athletically built person (probably a man) dressed entirely in camouflage gear. Gripped in his hands, across his front, was what appeared to be a rifled weapon. Joe was pretty sure the piece of kit was a long-range M-24 rifle as poking out one side was the silhouette of the suppressor, and at the other end, the clearly identifiable contour of the folding stock, designed to give the operators cheek and shoulder a place to rest while aiming. It was an expensive piece of machinery.

This new development was both confusing and worrying in equal measures. Joe knew that an M-24 was a sniper's weapon, not one that would be used for amateur hits – a weapon favoured by the military . Why would a sniper be hiding out in the woods?

Already out of sight, the man had moved fast and light on his feet, despite not having been able to use his arms effectively, far faster than Joe could have run if he had had a mind to chase after him. But Joe did not care about that; he had other pressing concerns – the need to get his father to safety, to get them both out of that hell-hole!

Joe raised himself quickly and pulled Fenton into a seated position before hoisting him awkwardly and urgently up onto his shoulders. He jostled to get a better hold and started running, muttering over and over under this breath, _"We're okay...we're okay..."_

Eventually, with his free hand, Joe groped for his radio and put it to his mouth. "I have Dad, am heading for front entrance – watch out for man with rifle in your vicinity – pull out dudes, pull out, it's not worth it…IT'S NOT WORTH IT!"

"_Copy that,"_ a breathless Frank responded. _"We're coming your way...Con, __C'MON__! I don't think you…" _Joe heard his brothershout before the radio deadened again.

Joe ran further on than the waste bin, preferring to exit from the trees once he was as close to the park's front gate as possible. Then just as he was at the point of approaching the railings, Joe felt a movement below his shoulders that was not simply Fenton's arm striking him lightly with pendulum regularity. The hand had resting itself against the small of his back, gripping lightly onto his jacket, and then it started flailing. "Dad, it's me…I'm getting us out of here. Hold still, yeah?" His father's movements quieted down again and the arm continued its loose, swinging action.

Then he heard footsteps running up behind and half turned wild-eyed and brandished the walkie-talkie – not that he could have done a lot of damage with it – but he was relieved to find that it was his brother and Con catching up. "Did you see that guy with the M-24?" Joe blurted.

"No, but we heard him, and Con nearly got shot!" Frank said excitedly, clearly still riding high on adrenaline.

Con continued: "He had one of those red laser guidance dots aimed right at my head. If your brother hadn't followed me, I'd be dead right now. I owe you one, Frank."

"We opened fire into the trees, I think he was positioned up there," Frank explained.

"He was, but Dad and me were underneath, so it was lucky you didn't hit us!"

"Is Dad okay?" Frank dipped to try and see his father's face.

"I dunno, can't tell. I don't think he was shot though, and I think he's comin' out of it, was fighting me a little."

In the distance floated the sound of cop cars, sirens building in volume as they approached.

"Someone called the cavalry," Con remarked, "I think we're probably safe now. I doubt our new friend will hang around with the boys in blue heading this way…nevertheless—" He put a halting palm out and stepped clear of the trees with his gun held high to do a quick visual sweep. Then he turned back and indicated for them to follow him. "All's clear...I think."

They walked along the length of railing to the gate, went through and out the other side heading instinctively for the nearest street lighting. With Con standing guard over them, Joe and Frank unhitched their father and laid him gently down.

"Ouch! No wonder Dad's so zonked," Joe remarked and shrugged off his jacket to roll it into a make-shift pillow as Frank used his as a blanket.

The left side of Fenton's forehead sported a swelling hard lump that promised to expand into an impressive, pulsating black bruise. His brow line was split and blood had run about his face matting his hair, his eye already closing up in response.

"Dad – talk to us," Frank encouraged, seeing his dad's good eye was opening, he raised his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?

Fenton peered, unfocused. "Wassat?" he asked. "What? I wasssss…" his speech slowed into a confused silence and his eye travelled for a moment before attempting another effort at focusing. He gazed at Frank and then reached to clumsily grip onto his knee. "You're home!" he bizarrely announced.

The brothers glanced at each other uneasily.

The first cop car was screeching around the bend in the road, so Con re-holstered his sidearm and went down on one knee to see Fenton for himself. "Hit by something blunt, or ran into a tree – what do you reckon, lads?"

"Dunno, but—"

"Gunman!" Fenton piped up and switched his hand from Frank to Con's arm. "He wasn't…you know?"

"Yeah, we know Flash."

"But…listen, I—"

"Don't worry about it," Con said and patted Fenton's hand before pushing it under Frank's jacket. He looked across at the brothers. "Stay here. I'm going to square things with the boys and then I'll go and get the car and we'll take Fen over to the hospital – don't let him go to sleep." He stood and went across to talk to the officers who were exiting their cars, all showing signs of surprise at finding their old colleague there.

Frank locked concerned eyes with Joe. "What was up with you back there?"

"Nothin', I'm okay now. Like getting back on a horse." He heard himself laugh that nervous noise again and wished he was a better actor.

Frank obviously thought so too as he looked wholly unconvinced, but his attention was taken by another cop car pulling up behind the two that had already arrived.

The driver's door swung open and James Anderson stepped out. He saw the brothers and immediately approached them. One glance at Fenton caused him to grimace sympathetically. "Do you want to put Mr H into the back of my cruiser? We can drive straight over to the hospital – I can use my lights, radio ahead, get him there quickly."

"That'd be great." Joe said, and started moving along with Frank to lift their father between them and James came forward to also lend a hand.

*****

Con unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house. All was quiet and dark. Andrea and Vanessa must have retired for the night. Sighing his disappointment, Con pocketed the key and began unfastening his jacket.

Being the big and strong Con Riley was sometimes the heaviest weight of all to bear, and the older he grew, the heavier his burden became. When things happened like today, he was happy to step into his traditional shoes of the problem solver with strength enough for all, but sometimes, after the event, the tradition of returning late into the night, to an empty house with no other living company, other than a deaf dog and James when he was off shift…well, sometimes it would be nice to have a sympathetic ear. He could not help but wonder if Andrea Bender would feature in his future and help to fill that gap.

As he slipped the jacket from his shoulders, he was proven wrong in his assumption that the ladies were in bed as Vanessa appeared around the pillar that led to the sitting room area.

"Oh, thank goodness! Con, I was getting really worried. It's been hours since I dropped off that envelope. Did you catch him?"

Con opened his mouth to respond, but then Andrea appeared behind her daughter, severing his thoughts. All Con wanted to do at that very moment was to sweep her up again and take some reassurance in her company, not have to explain everything that had gone to crap. He shook himself and tore his eyes from Andrea's face to address Vanessa's question. "No, things didn't go so good, and—"

"Are you okay?" Andrea interrupted.

Con touched his nose. "Yeah, I'm okay, it wasn't me that got injured."

"Someone got injured?" Vanessa squawked. "How did someone get injured? You were going to try and catch one guy! Who got hurt, what happened?"

"It was Fen, he—"

Andrea stepped around her daughter, "Let's go and make you a drink and then you can tell us about it."

Vanessa gave her mom a hard stare at her presumptuous interruption and then gave Con another look, her demeanour showing she was reappraising. "Yeah, come on Con, you look like you could do with a coffee," her voice had gentled. She took his jacket away from him and slipped her arm into his to lead him to the kitchen where Andrea had already gone.

Rebel must have seen the light come on because he trotted in and got excited at Con being there, leaping around like a fool. Con grinned at the sight of him and allowed himself a couple of minutes of wrestling and affectionate boxing of flopping ears before settling down with his coffee and Rebel's head in his lap.

Eventually all three members of the little household seated themselves around the small dining table and he told them what had happened.

"Is Fenton going to be okay?" Andrea asked, gazing at Con over her cup.

"He's got a concussion, and a black eye to be proud of, but the doc said he should be up and around pretty quickly. We thought he'd run into a tree, or been hit, but the doctor thinks he most likely just ran, tripped and hit his head." Con raised his shoulders. "We'll only know for sure when Fen's a bit more compus-mentus. He was talking complete garbage up until I left him with Laura. Said _"hi"_ to Frank as though he'd only just come home from Seattle about five times while I was there."

"So what happens now?" Vanessa asked.

"Tomorrow morning Frank and Joe are going to put their plan into action to try and get Frank into Compute-Soft," Con checked his watch "Actually that's in just a few hours…boy, they're gonna be tired."

Vanessa's face twisted into an unattractive and disobliging pout. "Without me?" she asked.

"Yes, _without you_. Girl, I don't think you're processing just how serious this situation is becoming. There was a gunman out there tonight and we don't why he was there – could have been there to kill _you_. I'm not going to allow you to be put in any further danger. It's hands off from now on. A blackmail photograph was dirty fighting, but a sniper? That's off the scale."

Vanessa paled. "I hadn't thought of it like that." She took a final drink of her tea and moved to put the cup in the dishwasher. "I can come to the agency with you tomorrow though? Mom is working and won't be around and I'd rather not be here on my own, even with Rebel."

Con visually sought out Andrea's permission, finding she was regarding him thoughtfully. She smiled softly, her pupils expanding and he grinned back, his own eyes kinking up. He turned to answer Vanessa, but was perturbed to find she'd caught her mother and him having their unspoken moment. "Yes Van, you can come with me tomorrow," he said quickly.

Vanessa frowned at them and said, "Cool, 'cause I've had an idea."

*****

Con had been in bed for only a little while when he detected a scratching sound at his door. "Knock it off – it's three in the morning!" he snapped in a loud whisper.

"Sorry…"

Rolling over rapidly, Con hissed in a desperate voice, "No, don't go, I thought you were Rebel!"

The door reopened and Andrea appeared to slide quickly into the room and then eased the door shut. "I'm not sure I should now, considering you confused me with a _dog_ of all things!"

"Hello you," he whispered and turned over the edge of the bed clothes and tapped the mattress.

She smirked like a naughty schoolgirl and padded quickly across to get in, nudging him aside. "Thought you could do with the company after what happened today." She encouraged him to slide back down under the covers and pulled him close.

Con revelled in her embrace for a while before saying: "Not that I don't appreciate it, but it wasn't me that got injured, it was Fen."

"Con – someone tried to kill you tonight, someone used you as a bulls eye. If it hadn't been for Frank's quick reactions—" she paused and stroked his hair, "Don't try convincing me you weren't shaken by it, you're not_ that_ tough…it's shaken me up, and I wasn't even there."

Con felt his heart quicken at her words and raised himself to look down at her in the dim light. "I've spent the last six months believing you thought I was a dimwit!"

She laughed at him. "No, but you _are_ the thickest skinned man I've ever met in my life. Either that, or my flirting technique is grossly out of touch."

He snuggled back down again and closed his eyes. "If that's an example of your seduction tactics, woman, I hope I never get on your bad side."

"Why do you think I invented all those extra DIY jobs for you to do about the house? I wasn't punishing you, I was trying to conjure up reasons to keep you around." She shifted her leg so it was between his two and she was half lying atop him.

They lay in companionable silence for a while, Con mulling over what she had said, tracing a pattern on the top of her foot with his toes. "Why did you say there was something 'off' about me?" he asked, eventually.

Now it was Andrea's turn to sit half up and look down. "When did I say that?"

"When I got pepper sprayed."

"Oh! My mouth was running high. I thought you were the man who'd broken in to attack my daughter." She stopped for a beat, and then clearly thought Con deserved more of an explanation because she continued on a different vein: "I guess I don't trust my own judgement where men are concerned. I attract the wrong types usually – the types that are only interested in good-looking women because…well…they want a trophy girlfriend. And then when I prove I have a brain and can exist independently of them, they get nasty, jealous, unfair or manipulative…or all of the above. I guess I thought you'd proven yourself to be one of those types and I was disappointed." Then she laughed softly. It was an embarrassed sound.

"I do think you're good-looking, drop dead, actually, and—" he touched her cheek, "—and I wonder what you're doing in the bed of someone like me…a lug."

"Stop underplaying yourself, my taste in men isn't _that_ wide of the mark. You're a handsome man, Con Riley, in a rough-n-ready kind of a way. But that's not the only reason you're lying here next to me." She reached across so she was above his face and resting against his chest skin-to-skin. "I was horrible to you, you witnessed me at my worst…rude and obnoxious… yet you _still_ persevered and pursued me, those kind of men are worth the effort, they're a rare breed."

"You were testing me?"

"Maybe, but not consciously."

"Did I pass?"

She leaned to deliver a very long kiss that made Con's hair stand on end. "100 percent."

"You do realise I don't have the uniform anymore?"

"Oh no!"

"Actually, that's a lie…I do."

Andrea sat half up again. "With you?"

"'Fraid not."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The man quickened his step and checked his watch - he was running a little late.

Just up ahead, a younger male in a cheap, badly fitted suit was limping across the road with the aid of a walking stick. Not wishing to get caught behind the slow mover, the man speeded up still further and before the young male had even reached the other side of the street, he had drawn level and was passing by.

The morning was lovely and peaceful, the early morning spring sun working to lift away the morning dew from the ground...so it was a disappointment when, gradually, the harmony was spoiled by an distant throb of an engine, the roar rudely spoiling the beauty of the trilling birdsong. It was a motorcycle, its sound gradually building momentum and becoming a thunderous cacophony, almost as though the rider had removed the silencer to effect a much more powerful engine – a lot of adolescents did this, showing off to impress the gum-chewing girls.

Actually, the bike was getting so loud that it was starting to feel as though it was coming directly up behind him, rather than being on the highway, the ground physically shaking.

But no matter how big the temptation was getting, the man fought the urge to turn and look; that would be too embarrassing, as the male with the walking stick would then know that he was feeling intimidated and paranoid. But then he heard the male shout: _"You freakin' moron!"_ and the man _knew_ he was going to have to see what was happening.

He stole a look over his shoulder. Too late he realised that the motorcyclist _was_ on the sidewalk and not in the road, and that he was doing a wheelie and coming his way. He gasped and stepped quickly to one side, the intention to let the rider have the right of way, even though he or she had no right being there at all. But the rider had other ideas – dropping the front wheel back onto the sidewalk, an arm was extended straight out and as the bike passed, the man was hit in the middle of his back and swept him off his feet…straight into a pile of trash bags.

The cyclist shouted something, but it was all over so quickly that the man did not catch what was said. But the tone of voice confirmed one fact: the rider had been male.

Floundering amongst the rubbish with scraped knuckles and torn pants, the man knew that as the cyclist had been dressed entirely in black leather and had been on a black bike, with a black helmet and darkened visor, he would have difficulty giving any identifying details to the police. Besides which, it had happened so fast!

Ultimately, the young male with the walking stick was there beside him, having somehow run to his aid and began helping him to his feet. "Are you okay? What an idiot! I can't believe that guy just hit you like that, he tried to push me too. Here, let me help you up."

"I'm fine—"

"No you're not, you scratched your hand. And your pants, they must have been expensive!" The young man was excitable and his glasses dropped down his nose. Pushing them back up, he pointed to the main doors of Compute-Soft. "Where were you heading…in here?"

"Yes, that's where I work," Mr Bale admitted and allowed himself to be hustled inside.

*****

Frank had struggled to keep in character and control his mirth when his brother had shot passed on his bike. As he had coasted by, Joe had saluted before lifting the front wheel into a…well…frankly…audaciously self-indulgent wheelie. Then, to up the dramatic effect of it all, as he approach Mr Bale, he pulled on the throttle to add a frightening rev of engine noise.

"You freakin' moron!" Frank shouted, raising his walking stick for effect, and then watched as Joe caught up to Mr Bale who had finally decided to take a look behind him.

Mr Bale's shoulder's had been tense right from the second when Joe's engine had started pursuing him, so Frank was surprised he had managed to fend off the enticement to look – too long, as it happened – because he was not quick enough to register Joe's intention. It was simply a case of Joe raising his arm and clothes-lining the guy. Mr Bale was, moments later, flipping off terra firma and into a pile of trash – _right where he belonged_ – and Joe was whooping off into the distance, fist pumping the air.

Frank hurried over – not forgetting to limp – and caught up with Mr Bale who was still rolling and undulating amongst the black plastic like a huge, felled slug. "Are you okay? What an idiot! I can't believe that guy just pushed you like that, he tried to push me too, here, let me help you up."

"I'm fine—"

"No you're not, you scratched your hand. And your pants – they must have been expensive!" Frank went into a coughing fit, trying not to laugh. His throat was going into spasms and his eyes were watering which was making his glasses slip down his face. He quickly gave them a shove up his nose and then indicated to the front door of Compute-Soft. "Where were you heading…in here?"

"Yes."

Frank tucked his hand under Mr Bale's arm and helped him to his feet, wiping his shoulder at the same time to do Bale the favour of flicking away a large rotting lettuce leaf. However, Frank decided to leave the other leaf perched on Mr Bale's head, he was unsure of the etiquette for touching someone's scalp. Again, he felt a snigger rising in his throat, so pushed Mr Bale out in front so he would not spot his moistened eyes and bobbing Adam's apple. Not that Bale noticed as he was concentrating on his scraped knuckles as Frank directed him through the automatic doors and into the reception area.

A dark haired girl behind the counter looked up and saw Mr Bale, then saw the lettuce leaf, then looked at Frank. Her eyes curled up and she raised her hand to scratch her nose. Eventually she said in a strangled tone, "Mr Bale, what happened? Are you okay?"

"He'll be fine," Frank answered. "Had a fall. Do you have a first aid kit?" He glanced around, to see where the men's washroom was.

"Uh, yes we do." She dipped down out of sight and there was the noise of a drawer sliding open and some soft snickering. Then she bobbed back into view with an emergency kit and a straight face.

"Thanks," Frank said, taking it from her. "C'mon," he said to Mr Bale and led him through to the bathroom. "My name's Ben, by the way." He had chosen the pseudonym 'Ben' as a nod towards Vanessa's surname of 'Bender'.

"Bale." Catching his reflection in the mirror, Mr Bale quickly removed the lettuce leaf and dropped it into the bin.

Frank leaned his walking stick against the wall. "That's an unusual name," he remarked and set the first aid kit on top of the run of basins and opened up the case.

"Mr Bale," he corrected. "First name is Lawrence…'Law'," Then Frank heard a chortle…a sign that Mr Bale was getting over his fright.

"Oh…duh. Sorry, I can be a bit—" Frank didn't explain what he meant by being _'a bit'_, instead he performed a mime by pressing gun fingers to his temple, going "_POW!"_ and then crossed his eyes. "Head in the clouds most of the time…AH, alcohol wipes." He lifted his glasses and read the instructions on the back of the packet before ripping the top open. "Always worried someone'll be allergic," he muttered. "So much stuff out there that isn't good for you. How do you know the good from the bad? I think I'm lactose intolerant."

"So, what do you do, Ben, other than help strangers?"

Frank shrugged his shoulders and gave the alcohol wipe to Mr Bale so he could clean his own hand. "I'm kinda between jobs at the moment. Trying to set myself up in business, but it's hard going, you know? In this financial climate, it's difficult, and so much competition out there. You have to really chase clients down."

"I know what you mean."

Frank looked at his own reflection in the mirror, checking out how terrible his hair looked all brushed flat like that. In those glasses and that hairstyle, he reminded himself of a myopic monk. "What do you do, Mr Bale, other than being pushed into garbage bags?" Frank turned to the kit again and started rummaging for an appropriate dressing of some sort.

"I'm the Chief Executive Officer of this company."

Frank let his mouth drop open in surprise and stared in amazement at Mr Bale's reflection. "Really? What, of Compute-Soft? Here?"

"For my sins."

"I am _seriously_ in awe. You got some major software packages. I've used them myself, they're _amazing_!" Finding a large Band-aid, Frank started rattling on about some of Compute-Soft's products, throwing in some buzzwords and jargon that Vanessa had supplied him with when they had spoken that morning by phone.

"Just what line of work are you in, Ben?" Mr Bale interrupted as Frank adhered a Band-aid to the back of his hand.

"PC graphics – designing of brochures, newsletters, and websites too, that kind of thing."

"It just so happens that we have an opening for a graphic designer."

"Oh?"

"Yes, we lost a member of staff recently. We're in the process of recruiting, but it may be that you have all the skills we're looking for – even in this short time you've proven yourself to be someone who can cope in an emergency, can think on his feet," he motioned to the walking stick, "no offence—"

"None taken."

"—and you have all the experience we're looking for, including having used our products."

Frank wrinkled his nose and lifted one side of his mouth. "I wasn't really looking for a job, like I said, I'm trying to get my own business off the ground and frankly, I'm probably over qualified." Then he allowed himself to look thoughtful and chewed at his lip for a few seconds before saying, "But then, money is tough at the moment and my phone bill isn't getting any smaller."

"Then why don't we compromise? I like you Ben, why don't you give us a shot, and then if you don't like it, you can walk away with no hard feelings. We can make it an 'unofficial' understanding for the moment – freelance only. What do you say?"

And as simply as that, Frank was in with all stumbling blocks removed by Mr Bales' kindly offer of 'under the table' work – no troubling paperwork to have to complete, and no official status or personal checks, not even references.

*****

Frank was back at the agency's building by early lunchtime, noting that Joe's motorcycle was parked up alongside his own bike and a squad car that he assumed must be James Anderson's.

He had taken to chaining his red motorcycle up outside the office when he was not using it as no free spaces were currently available at his apartment block. So until he reached the top of the waiting list, he was taking advantage of the free bike parking area that no one ever used other than his brother. It was the perfect temporary solution.

Frank had just finished up at Compute-Soft, having been ensconced in a lengthy meeting in Mr Bale's office being fed an outline of the job – Vanessa's old job. Mr Bale had been impressed with Ben's 'experience in the field', which Frank had concocted entirely off the top of his head. _"Lucky I'm so good at improvising!"_ He had yet to met Nick, but he knew that when he started work the next day, they would be introduced then.

He pulled the door open and headed down the hall. Hearing a noise on the stairs, he looked up to find James standing there having stopped to wait for him.

"The Dark One…lookin' slick and smooth!" James was clearly amused by Frank's appearance.

Frank touched his hair and grimaced as hair gel left a sticky residue on his hand, "Slick, yes, smooth...I think we both know that's a lie. You okay, James?"

"Can't complain."

"Got some info for us?"

"You betcha."

"Hero!"

Now at the top of the stairs, James pushed the door open and they both entered to find a slight commotion going on, several voices raised. Silence ensued, however, at the sound of the new arrivals, everyone turning as one.

Frank immediately noticed two things that should not have been there. The first being a new white-board screwed to the wall, and the other being Fenton Hardy, sitting in his usual chair wearing a pair of slick, ray-ban sunglasses, the majority of the facial bruising hidden beneath the lenses. They made him look like a rad-cool dude.

That was the thing Frank had to admit his dad had over both he and Joe. He was naturally more handsome, but didn't have to raise a finger to try. Whatever he dressed in, it always suited him and even bruising just added to qualities that were already there. People were always pointing out that Frank resembled his father, but he did not have his father's softness of features – that was more in keeping with Joe. Frank's face could be hard when in repose, and that made him seem unapproachable and moody. Fenton had the type of visage that women gazed at, doe eyed. Not even the gradually appearing grey hair was doing anything to diminish that power. Fenton Hardy had no need of a 'special smile' – fancy haircuts and chemical peels held no interest.

Frank leaned on his walking stick and pointed. "What are you doing here?" he asked forcefully.

Fenton failed to respond at first, just sat there presumably looking back, but eventually his face swivelled to speak to Con. "I think you're right, I think I'm hallucinating. James just came in, correct? But I'm also seeing Frank standing by the door dressed in the worst fitted suit I've ever seen in my life and the ugliest tie. Not only that, but he has his walking stick, a pair of glasses, and his hair…is everyone else seeing this?"

Con gave a resigned shake of his head and patted Fenton gently on the shoulder.

Fenton directed a thumb. "Con – he just talked to me!"

James grinned and tucked his thumbs into his belt. "Nope, just me, Mr H. You really should go'n rest your head."

Frank moved to discard the glasses and fold his stick away. "Don't humour them, you're not hallucinating, it's my disguise." He ran his fingers through his hair and attempted to kink it out of its flattened state but it just made him look like a chimney sweep's brush. "I know I look like a dweeb, that was the whole idea." He went to stand in front of his father's desk and started pulling at the knot at his throat. "What are you doing here, Dad?" he asked again.

Everyone shifted their stances, clearly about to have their says, Joe leaning over Fenton's work station.

Fenton raised silencing palms. "Don't start ganging up and lambasting me again…please – I've still got a headache. I need to discuss something with you all, something I remembered about last night. Don't worry, the doc gave me clearance, so long as I take it easy and don't get over excited, so ease up on the nagging, had enough of that from Laura and—" his attention shifted to Joe who was now fidgeting away next to Frank, giving him prods. "—Son, have you got ants in your pants?"

"I want to know if Frank got into Compute-Soft."

Frank smirked. "What Joe really wants to know is what damage he did to Bale…damn it!" Try as he might, Frank couldn't remove his tie, the more he pulled, the tighter it got. It was turning into a noose.

With a head tip and peaked eyebrow, Joe impatiently prompted Frank to answer his question.

"You gave the guy a good scare and injured his hand. And yeah, I'm in – mission accomplished." Frank gritted his teeth and jiggled the tie back and forth. "Was much easier than I thought….for pity's sake…I was told Vanessa left because she got a better job."

"Did I?" Vanessa asked in mock surprise. "I wish. Here, let me help you." She stepped forward to give Frank some much needed assistance. Her dextrous fingers finally sliding the tie free and, much relieved, Frank undid his top button bringing his bruising to light again.

Joe's hand move towards Frank for an instant before being returned to his pants pocket. He was clearly still suffering guilt pangs.

"So what's the next plan?" Con asked.

"I'm going to research those strange invoicing anomalies with the aid of the copies Van made of her notes, and I'm going to lay some bugs in strategic places about the building for Joe to listen in. I think I'll need Vanessa to help me with the day-to-day work at Compute-Soft, so she can cover my back and free up my time for more snooping." Frank raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

"No problem. We can communicate by e-mail. Send work to-and-fro." Vanessa swaggered up to the white-board, took out a pen, and started scribbling what Frank had said to a list that was already there. James joined her and started reading what had been written.

"What's with the whiteboard?" Frank asked.

"Just thought you guys might find it a useful tool to have case notes quickly at hand, rather than on bits of paper in a file," Vanessa answered. "More visual, might help you to see patterns and give you somewhere to brain storm."

"Nicely done." Frank noticed that there was a blank piece of photographic paper pinned up; so curiously, he strolled across, pulled it free, and turned it. Too late he realised why it had been attached face down on the board – it was the picture of himself and Vanessa at the club. "Uh—" Someone had had the forethought to attach that way to save Joe's feelings...until Frank came along with his nosy fingers.

James went very red, obviously it was the first time he had seen the picture or even knew anything about it. He turned to Vanessa with his eyebrows shooting off his forehead. "No _shit_!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

At the expletive uttered by James upon seeing the blackmail photograph for the first time, Vanessa spluttered, "I'll explain later, Jimmy. It's not what it seems. " She snatched the picture from Frank's fingers and with a flourish shoved the photograph into her handbag out of harm's way and pulled the zipper shut.

Joe was looking out of the window, having chosen to separate himself from the embarrassing scene both physically and mentally.

Frank glanced at Vanessa apologetically. "Good one Van." She gave him a glare, misinterpreting what he had meant, so he quickly added, "No, not the photograph being pinned up, about the _whiteboard_…a good idea." He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair again. "Shut your trap, Frank!" he chastised himself.

"Fen," Con cut though loudly. "What was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

"Uh…what?" Fenton jumped to attention. "Yes, about last night. I think the Doc was right when he told you I'd probably tripped over and hit my head although the whole episode is still hazy…but didn't you boys notice something odd?" He stopped and looked at each man expectantly, meeting a swath of blank faces.

"Odd?" Joe prompted.

"One of you, I forget who, talked to me on my radio just before the shooting started and I think I ran—"

"That was me," Frank offered.

"—That's not important, what's significant is that my two way radio ended up back in my pocket, which is strange, because I _must _have dropped it. Now either Joe put it there – which I doubt – or someone unconnected to us did."

"I didn't do it," Joe confirmed. "Was more interested in getting us out of there in one piece."

"Can you remember anyone being there, Fen?" Con asked.

Fenton sighed and his index finger drifted under his sunglasses to caress his eye. "Bearing in mind things are cloudy and I could be imagining this. I have a notion of shifting movement, like someone rolling or even lifting me. I don't think whoever it was said anything, but I think I saw boots with pants tucked inside? I was pretty out of it, could be mixing it up with Joe's mercy dash."

"You were on your front," Joe said, and then added as an afterthought, "in the classic recovery position. But now you mention it, your head wound was uppermost, when it should have been towards the ground, and I didn't notice anything you would have hurt yourself on to the extent you did. If there had been, I would have felt it when I rolled us under that bush."

"What was the shooter wearing, Bro?" Frank asked.

"Camouflage…military gear."

"Boots?"

"Yeah—" His eyes opened wider and he snapped his fingers. "—With the pants tucked in!"

"Then he couldn't have been after us," Fenton concluded, "or he would have finished me off, and although I couldn't swear under oath, I'm pretty sure he hadn't been firing at me."

"He must have been after the same guy we were following." Joe surmised.

"Not necessarily. He still could have been after Vanessa," Frank said, "or could have been a bad shot."

"Vanessa and Rebel were long gone by that time," Fenton reminded them. "It was plain to anyone watching she'd left."

"Don't forget he aimed at me," Con said.

"Then he was there to protect the blackmailer." Vanessa said, joining in on the 'supposing'.

"But then why make sure I'm okay?" Fenton asked.

"Which brings you all full circle." James cut in quietly, from Frank's swivel chair where he had plonked himself. He was grinning sardonically at their rambled conversation and gently swaying.

Vanessa pulled the lid off her felt tipped pen with an audible pop and headed to the white-board again. "Question," she said, turning around. She aimed the pen at the board where a description of the man who had pushed her into the road had been added. "Our blackmailer, did he look like this guy?" she asked, looking from Frank, across to Joe.

"We didn't see the dude. Dad got the best visual."

Fenton put his hands against his desktop and pushed himself to his feet, waving Con's offered hand away. "I'm fine," he muttered and moved to the white-board. He read the description and then shook his head. "Our blackmailer was taller, as tall as me, maybe even Frank, and bigger set, older."

They all quietened, no one had anything useful to add.

Vanessa piped up with a quote from a famous children's fairytale: "Curiouser and curiouser!" and began adding further notes to the board.

"I've got some information for you, but I don't know how much help it'll be – information gotten from the cell phone." James pulled an envelope from his pocket.

A pregnant air settled over the people in the room.

"Set your expectation-levels to 'low', it's not that exciting," James remarked. "The thumbprint does belong to someone known to the police with priors, but it wasn't the guy who pushed Vanessa. It was someone I believe you know. Mrs Holliday?"

"You're kidding!" Frank cried out. "Mrs Holliday's got a rap sheet? What for? What did she do?"

"I can't tell you that. But what I can say is that they were for something worthwhile to her, not done with any criminal intent."

"C'mon dude, spill the beans. Don't be a killjoy all your life!"

"Joe…my nephew can't do that, he'd lose his job," Con admonished the younger Hardy.

"Of course he can't." Joe agreed with an amiable grin. But then he spoiled it by leaning forward and stage-whispering to James: _"You can tell me later when Con's not listening."_

"JOE!"

"Jeeze! Relax Con, I was just playin'!"

"Careful Joe, Unc sets Rebel on people who backtalk him." James opened the envelope and extracted a short printout sheet, which he offered to Fenton. "This is the list of calls that were made from and to the cell phone. It's short, totalling six …and the number hasn't been registered to a new phone, though I'll keep on monitoring that situation."

Fenton accepted the proffered list. "Compute-Soft!" he muttered. "All the calls made and received involved Compute-Soft." He ran the back of his hand over his brow.

Vanessa stood at his elbow to see. "That's the main switchboard number."

"That's a blow!" Frank said, taking the list. "It means that he could have been talking to anyone once he was transferred. The fact that it's only Compute-Soft he's ever spoken to draws me to suspect the phone was only purchased for that purpose." Frank indicated to the final entry. "Yep, look there, the guy was talking to someone at Compute-Soft when I jumped him, the time correlates perfectly."

"Uh-huh," Fenton agreed thickly.

"Do they issue work phones to all employees?" Joe asked.

"Only for people who work from home, or reps." Vanessa answered.

"People who work in the warehouse?" Frank asked and looked into his father's face. Fenton's pallor was grey, even greyer than before…decidedly peaky in fact and sweat beads had formed on his upper lip. Frank placed a palm lightly against his father's elbow. He wanted to ask him if he was all right as he could feel a slight sway, but Vanessa was answering his question:

"I suppose they must; some of them go off-site to visit potential clients. But they aren't pre-paid phones—" and then Fenton made an abrupt dropping movement and snatched onto her injured arm, making her jump and squeal in pain as he squeezed, "What are you…?" she half shouted and then understood what was happening and made a haphazard attempt at stabilising the both of them, but not doing a very good job.

Frank tightened his grip on is father's arm with a loud, "Whoa!" and wrapped his other arm around Fenton's middle to pull the weight off Vanessa as Con and Joe jumped to their assistance.

James leaped and wheeled his chair quickly forward so Frank and Joe could angle Fenton into it. He was repeating the same phrase the entire time, "I'm okay…I'm okay..." Con shoved Fenton's head down towards his knees.

"Not wishin' to contradict the super-human entity Fenton Hardy, but you don't look it," James remarked, picking up a folder and wafting some cool air in Fenton's direction.

"You really don't, Dad," Joe agreed.

"Get off!" Fenton muttered irritably and shoved Con's hand away to come up again. "Sorry Honey, I hurt you didn't I?" he asked Vanessa.

Vanessa was rubbing her arm and shot him a reproving look. "Mr H, that made my eyes water! You should go home, this place won't fall down if you're not here."

"The girl's not wrong!" Con agreed. "No arguments, I'm taking you. You were stupid to come in with a concussion. You could have fallen down the stairs."

*****

It was an enveloping, prickly silence that accompanied Con and Fenton's drive to the Hardy residence that afternoon, neither one of them having anything to say for almost the entire journey. Fenton was in a sulky funk having not appreciated having a personal decision made over his head, practically reducing his status to that of underling by his business partner and collaborators. Con was frightened of annoying his friend further as Fenton had been told he shouldn't 'get excited' by his doctor. But eventually it was Fenton he who broke the impasse with, "So, what's up with you?"

After a meaningful pause in which Con tried to conjure up some sort of significant response, he answered vaguely, "Up with me?"

"You've been acting odd over the last couple of days."

Con's hands gripped the steering wheel hard and he frowned, wondering how Fenton could possibly have picked up on the Andrea situation…if that was what Flash was hinting at. "Have I?" he replied glibly. He indicated left and nosed the car onto Elm Street and approached the house.

"You know you have; you are right now."

Con could sense Fenton's eyes were on him, watching the side of his face through the ray-ban lenses. Not returning the look, he simply gave a nonplussed shrug. "I dunno what you mean," and then he spotted his passport out of that awkward confab, "uh-oh, you're in trouble, pal!" He nodded out the window with a grin.

Fenton saw what Con was indicating to and shrank in the seat. Laura was standing at the carport with her hands on her hips. She clearly was not happy. "Oh boy!"

Con parked and climbed out to move around the car to Fenton's side. "Hi Laura."

"Thanks for this Con. I told him not to leave the house," Laura said and opened Fenton's door.

"We told him to go home, but would he listen?" Con pulled Fenton by the arm from the interior.

"Stubborn as a mule! You can tell where Joe gets his awkward nature from!"

"You're not wrong."

"I should have tied him to the bed."

"Now there's a mental image—"

"I am still here you know!" Fenton interrupted.

"And that's a problem, buddy. You should have stayed in bed like your wife told you to. What were you thinking coming in today?"

"I had to tell you about the walkie-talkie."

"And the theatrical impact would have been spoiled if you'd told us by phone I suppose?"

Muttering incomprehensibly, Fenton stalked into the house and headed for the sitting room. It was his way of conceding Con's point without having to loose face.

"Come in, Con." Laura sighed tiredly.

Con went through to the living room entrance and glanced around the empty room. "Where'd Fen go?"

"_Here!"_ A hand appeared waving above the top of the winged chair his friend was sitting in. From the back, Fenton was entirely hidden.

Laura followed after with a blanket and endeavoured to start putting it over her husband's legs, but he fought her off and it ended up being draped over the back of the chair, unused and unloved.

Con felt empathy. Laura was starting to look exhausted by the effort of controlling her single-mindedly awkward soul mate.

"I need a drink!" she said.

Con looked at the drinks cabinet.

"No, not that type of drink, a tea. Do you want a coffee, Con?" She asked, and then addressed Fenton. "I take it you want one?"

"Yes please." Fenton said, and made to get up again.

"For pity's sake Fenton, stay there!" Laura finally shouted.

"I was just—"

"You are driving me insane!" She took a warning step and he shrank back. "Fenton Hardy, you move an inch and you're sleeping in the guest room tonight! Don't you think I have enough to deal with? Never in all my life have…"

Con started backing up to the doorway. "I'll go and put the kettle on," he muttered and went to the kitchen, hearing Laura continuing to tear strips off her husband. He would normally have felt sorry for his friend…man-o-man…but this time, Fenton deserved everything she was verbally hurling at him. Con picked up the kettle and gave it a shake, confirming there was plenty of water in it. He turned on the burner and set it down over the heat.

Presently, Laura appeared at his shoulder. "Sorry about that," she said pleasantly and almost light-heartedly as she began to take down cups from one of the upper cupboards. "He wasn't supposed to leave the house today. I returned from the store to find him gone. By the time I phoned the office, Joe told me you were bringing him back."

"What the hell?!" Con crossed his arms. "That's not what Flash told us. He said he'd been given the all clear, so long as he didn't over-extend himself."

Laura rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove, picking up the kettle and checking its weight herself before placing it back down. "He was given permission to come home with the understanding not to work. He thinks that the agency will fall down about his ears if he's not there."

"Vanessa said something similar." A mental memory of Vanessa massaging her arm and giving Fenton a hurt look dropped into his head. Then inexplicably it slid away to be replaced with a vision of Andrea sneaking naked out of his bedroom before Vanessa could catch them. He must have smirked or something because when he focused on Laura again, he realised she was staring at him with her mouth open. "What?" he asked.

"_Con Riley_…you've got a twinkle."

He spluttered, "Huh?"

"Yes you have, you've got a definite glint in your eye!"

"I dunno—"

"There it is!" she pointed excitedly at his face. "I know what that means…you're seeing someone!"

"No I'm not."

"Don't deny it, I can tell, I know you well enough."

"Laura! Stop imagining—"

A further realisation dawned and her hands went to her mouth. "Oh my Lord! It's not Vanessa is it? Have you got a schoolboy crush on my son's leggy, blonde girlfriend?"

"Laura! What the hell? No, it's not Vanessa, I don't go for women who are young enough to be my daughter, actually it's…it's no one."

Laura dropped her hands to reveal a very wide, supercilious smile. "Gotcha!"

Con pursed his lips and internally cursed – Laura Hardy had just played him like a fiddle! "It's all in your head," he muttered and turned away to search the work counter. "Where's the coffee?" he asked feeling frazzled. After a pause, he turned back to find she was staring at him, thinking hard. He continued to ignore her and swept by to open the refrigerator and get the milk. He had just put his hand on and was lifting it when Laura said, _"You ol' hound…it isn't Vanessa at all, is it? It's Andrea!"_ He fumbled the canister, managing to use his hip to push it up against one of the wire shelves until Laura's hand appeared to grab it.

She gave him a gentle nudge as she lifted the carton away. "I'm right, aren't I?"

He was in a quandary. Laura was his confidant and the guardian of many of his secrets…including his full name, which she had never divulged…so he knew he could trust her. But he had also made a promise to Andrea, and himself, that things would remain confidential until things had progressed enough as to make it 'official'. Weighing the balance by doing something stupid was not part of the plan; they had only been 'together' for one day. On the other hand, Laura would never believe him if he denied it outright and was likely to then confront Andrea instead.

He sighed dramatically and rocked back on his heels. "Okay, it's true."

Laura clapped her hands triumphantly. "Yes, I _knew_ it!"

"But you have to keep it to yourself, and for God's sake…don't tell Andrea you know, I made her a promise."

But Laura was barely listening; she was prancing about the kitchen doing a stupid dance.

"Control yourself, Laura…Laura!" Eventually, Con strode over and took her by the shoulders to focus her. "You have to keep it to yourself – promise me!"

"Can't I just tell—"

"NO, tell no one!!!" Con cringed, it occurred to him that there was a good chance Fenton had just overheard their whole conversation. "Crap!" Laura might be discreet about personal stuff, but Fenton could be another story if the mood suited and the wind was blowing in the right direction. Joe was not the only Hardy who could be a wind-up merchant. Con did not want to have to beat his friend into submission, so he needed to ensure Fenton would understand that this particular subject was off limits.

"What's the matter?" Laura asked as he turned on his heel and strode from the room with her following curiously.

He entered the seating area and paced around to the front of Fenton's chair. The older Hardy was still sitting there with those sunglasses on, his head tilted back against the headrest and looking up at Con, his face unreadable. "Flash, you have to keep what you just heard to yourself! You can't go telling anyone – least of all Vanessa or Joe…in fact, not even Frank." Fenton said nothing, no reaction at all, which only caused Con to panic still further and his voice to rise. "I mean it Fen, don't make me hurt you, buddy!"

Laura leaned over and wafted her fingers in front of her husband's face and then she started to laugh. "Asleep," she reported, and slipped off the glasses, revealing the sickening looking swollen, black eye and the fact that he was, indeed, in the Land of Nod. "See?"

"He really is asleep." Con said, grinning in relief. Then his face dropped. "Uh…I've been standing here yelling at him, shouldn't that have woken him up?"

Frowning, Laura gave Fenton another more searching look. "You're right, that's not good, is it?" she reached out and gave him a hard shake. "Sweetheart, wake up."

No reaction, and his head drooped forward.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Laura glanced alarmed at Con, worried at her injured husband's lack of reaction to her attempts at waking him. So she tried again, louder and with a harder shake, "Fenton!"

To her and Con's relief, her bellowing did elicit a response from Fenton this time, which was to jerk awake and glower up at them both. "You tell me to rest on one hand, and then when I do, you wake me up – what's the big idea?!"

Con shook his head. "What the hell, Fenton? You nearly gave your wife a coronary!"

*****

Joe and Frank had spent the remaining afternoon putting their plans into action. They went about checking the equipment they were going to use was in working order – taking turns standing on the ground floor and talking into the tiny disc bugs that Frank was going to scatter throughout Compute-Soft's offices the next day. That would then allow Joe the ability to listen in on a portable receiver that the agency owned as part of its cache of gadgets and gizmos.

Vanessa had helped where she was able, but her main plan had been to do some groundwork on the newsletter in advance for Frank, but she could not do that on the low spec equipment that was available at the agency and so needed to go home and use her PC there. She duly asked if one of the boys could run her home, rather than her just sitting around, but Joe scuppered her plan, refusing to allow her to go anywhere out of his eye line, no matter how much counter arguing she had thrown back – involving dropping her mom's and Rebel's names into the mix.

Luckily, Con had returned an hour later and so to pass the time, she had given him a word processing lesson. He turned out to be a pretty good pupil, his main problem being a lack of confidence, but she had assured him that with a few more lessons, she could get him up to a pretty good standard. He had looked doubtful, so she made a point to ensure she followed it up with him before too much time passed and he forget what he had been taught.

Eventually, Frank and Joe were sitting down at their desks having finished what they were doing.

Vanessa got up from her place next to Con. "Joe, take me home now. Frank is going to have to look like he's doing legitimate work tomorrow, so I need to edit the newsletter so it looks like it's at different stages of completion."

"I can run you back – follow you in my car," Con quickly offered, "I'd like to see…Rebel."

"No, I'll do it." Joe countered and then addressed Vanessa. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. I'll give Rebel a pat for you, Con."

"Thanks," Con muttered.

"Besides, Van didn't bring her car, I gave her a ride this morning in my Ford."

"Ohh, comfy!" Frank muttered – a sarcastic nod towards the clunker that his brother drove when he was not using his motorcycle. It was an old brown, bucket-of-bolts car that, although not the greatest ride in the world, had a deceptively powerful engine and was perfect for undercover surveillance. It attracted very little attention, but it was ugly, and the suspension was shot.

Joe turned on him, "Don't knock it, Frank, it's not like your own car is so…erm…is…uh…" his mouth moved up and down and his eyes went up to the ceiling as he tried desperately to think of a witty rejoinder about his brother's scarlet colored, souped up and blemish free, powerful convertible. "Uh…

Frank put his chin on his fist and waited.

"Uh…_bite me_!"

Con and Frank heckled him as he quickly fled the office with Vanessa following on and laughing herself.

"That was more like the usual Joe," Con remarked, after the door had closed.

"Yeah, it was. But why do I feel it's just the calm before the storm?" Frank wondered.

*****

Frank showed up for 'work' the next morning in his badly fitted suit, arriving half an hour earlier than needed, the plan to show enthusiasm. He was so early he arrived before Lawrence Bale and sent the receptionist, Angie, into a tizzy. No one had warned her, and presenting himself early had not helped. She had begun making frenetic phone calls to ascertain what to do with him that did not involve her having to leave her post.

Eventually, the problem was solved when a brunette walked into the building. Angie heaved a sigh of relief and put her hand on Frank's arm. "Elaine, thank goodness. This is Ben Andréa, he's starting today as the new DTP Assistant. Take him away!" With a good-natured shove, Angie propelled Frank aside.

Elaine gave him a quick visual once over and slowly smiled up at him. "Hello Ben, Mr Bale told me you were starting today. I'm Mr Bale's secretary; I was in a staff meeting yesterday, so missed you. You're a little early?"

"Traffic was light."

"Come through." Elaine led him toward the elevator.

As they rode the car, Elaine told him that she would arrange a security pass to be issued so he could circumvent the signing in process at reception, and would also organise a username and password to enable him free access to the network. "I'll take you to your desk and give you ten minutes to gather yourself, then I'll be back to show you around."

"Awesome."

They left the elevator and began weaving through partitions and desks, Frank's attendance drawing some curious looks. Eventually they entered a low, boxed in area that was pretty close to the stairs and the elevator they had just left. Why Elaine had walked him so far out of his way proved a mystery.

"Here's your desk. Cloak room is over there," she said, pointing vaguely, "but most people hang their coats on the back of their chairs. The last person who had this desk left her mug, so you may as well have it."

Frank stared at the cup on top of the desk. It was mostly white, but on the side were painted the words _"Good luck Van, love Callie"_. It made him feel sad as he'd not had any physical contact with Callie since the wedding. They'd almost entirely drifted apart, their lives having gone in separate directions.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Elaine said and left.

Frank put his stick to one side and shrugged off his jacket to hang it on the chair. He considered the reason as to why people would choose to keep their coats with them. _"Perhaps someone has light fingers?"_

Putting that thought aside, he sat and started going through the desk drawers; looking for anything interesting but coming up empty handed. The interiors had been cleaned out. Other than the mug, there was no evidence Vanessa had ever sat there.

As there was a key, he decided to put his briefcase in the larger bottom drawer and then lock it. If there was someone with itchy fingers, he did not wish to tempt fate.

He suddenly felt a prickling at the nape of his neck, telling him someone was watching. Looking around, Frank caught a man regarding him further down the room, but as soon as their eyes met, the man retreated into a side office.

Frank's cell phone vibrated in his pocket, indicating the arrival of a text message. It was Joe: _'I'm ready to snoop."_ was what the impatient message said.

"Geeze Joe, give me a break!" Frank muttered and keyed as much back in reply.

"_Quick as u can :-P" _was Joe's cheeky response.

Frank chuckled, shut his handset with an audible snap and slipped it into his breast pocket.

"Ready for your guided tour?" asked a voice behind him. Elaine had returned.

"Is it free?"

She laughed at what Frank considered to be a generous giggle considering the lameness of the joke. He grabbed the walking stick and followed.

"I'll introduce you to Nick Parton first, he's been waiting for you."

"Nick – that's my line manager, right?"

"Right."

Frank followed her towards the end of the office where the stranger had been standing earlier looking at him. It was only when Elaine tapped on his door that Frank realised it must have been Nick. He wondered why he was so interested. Could his real identity have been discovered already? If so, how? Or was Nick just interested in 'Ben' because they were going to be working together and Frank was just being overly suspicious?

"_Come in,"_ Nick invited and Elaine pushed the door, puttuing her hand against the small of Frank's back as they entered.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said.

Nick was standing stock still, having risen from his chair to turn and meet them full on, his hands clasped tightly behind him. At Elaine's off hand apology, Nick offered nothing, his expression unaltered. His eyes merely blipped towards Elaine and then down to her chest. _"Vanessa was so right!"_

Elaine did not seemed phased as she continued, "This is Ben Andréa."

"Ben," Nick said and pushed his hand formally out.

Frank transferred his stick and clasped Nick's proffered hand. He was surprised at how tight and assured the returned grip was, having expected a weak fingered grasp, possibly with a sweaty palm. Neither was the case.

He stared into Nick's face to try and garner some sort of eye contact, but again, Nick glanced up for a flash only. Frank looked down at himself to see if he had anything hanging against his front that was grabbing Nick's attention. Nick must have noticed Frank's movement because his gaze rose up to the corner of the room. "Nice to meet you," Frank said.

"You're replacing the excellent Vanessa?"

Frank paused for a second, back footed. "Uh, if she was my predecessor, then yes." This definitely was not what he was expecting.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Great view!" Frank said and stepped to the window to look out. Actually, to describe it as a 'great view' was an exaggeration; it was a crummy outlook of three cranes, a square of pre-prepared rough ground that was clearly destined to have another building erected on it, a few deep puddles, and an abandoned digger. Frank leaned against the window frame and practically flattened his nose against the glass. "It's the loneliness of the patch of ground, waiting to be brought to life, a blank canvas, the foundation laid bare of something that will one day be good, a sometime-to-be massive erection of raw industrialness – did I just make up a word?" he asked and laughed.

Elaine joined in a little too enthusiastically, took him by the elbow and started pulling. "Glad you think so, Ben."

Frank allowed himself to be backed out of the room and gave Nick a half wave, even though Nick had not turned around and was now seated at his desk. "Nice to meet you again, Nick. Looking forward to working with you."

"I think he's a bit busy at the moment," Elaine muttered by way of explanation of Nick's dismissal once the door was shut again.

"Is he…okay?" Frank asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see it?"

"See what?"

Frank paused and tipped his head. He felt she was hiding something, so he let the question hang until it became heavy and expectant, inviting a response that was impossible to ignore. Eventually, Elaine sighed, indicated for him to follow her to her office outside Mr Bale's room.

She shut the door, closed down all the blinds and then stepped uncomfortably close, her face about three inches under his chin. "You mustn't tell anyone," she whispered, her breath warm.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Great."

There was another pregnant pause as she gazed at him.

"But you haven't told me what I'm not supposed to be telling anyone," Frank prompted.

Elaine laughed throatily. "I suppose if you're going to be working with Nick, you ought to know. Vanessa was never told, but I think should have been. Nick has Asperger Syndrome…A.S.…so he finds interaction challenging. That's why he was so off-hand. But he's brilliant so we make concessions. So don't think he's being unfriendly or that he doesn't appreciate your help."

"Ohhhh, duh! No wonder he's the way he is. How did…Vanessa, was that her name?"

Elaine nodded and looked at his neck before letting her eyes slowly travel up.

Frank was relieved that the gradually fading bruises were covered by his shirt and tie. "How did she cope with it?"

"As I said, she never knew, so there was always an atmosphere between them. But of course, he'd never have picked up on it with having A.S."

"Is that why Vanessa moved on to a new job?"

"Partly," Elaine said vaguely. "I don't like to gossip."

Frank half grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose, ignoring the fact that Elaine was now staring at his mouth. "Okay, I'll bear it in mind and won't take offence if Nick seems a bit off. We all have our eccentricities, don't we?"

Elaine stepped impossibly close. "Don't we?" Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue flicked to moisten her upper lip. She looked pointedly again at Frank's mouth and raised an eyebrow.

"_Oh no! That's one complication I don't need!"_ Frank thought, finally working out why she had taken him the long way around to his desk rather than the more direct route – showing him off, marking him as her territory to the other women in the office. He pretended not to have noticed her lustful hints and focused through to Lawrence Bale's office through the open door. "WOW!" he said and limped through. "This'll be the side view to what Nick can see…awesome!"

Elaine joined him and looked out puzzled. "Awesome how?"

"Just the virginity of the whole expansive area. The way it's not as prepared as the last patch of ground, other than the trough to the side," Frank pointed, drawing her gaze. "See the lone tree? It's standing firm against the march of development, a sentinel guarding his position. Can you smell it?" Frank lifted his head and sniffed the air.

"Smell what?"

"The air of expectant change. It's buzzing with it, charged with heavy electrically. An aura of structured readiness. Breath held in fervent readiness for the madness that can only come from choking mechanics and the back-breaking drudgery of building work. Sweat and tears…the culmination of which can only mean one thing—" Frank did a dramatic spin and grasped Elaine by the biceps, pulling her closer, "—when the building work is done, there'll be more parking around the side!" He pinned her with an intense expression.

"Ah."

Frank grinned idiotically as she ducked under his hands and headed for her own office and the outside door. That had done the trick, she couldn't get away fast enough. "I'll show you the meeting room next and then I'll take you down to talk to Personnel about that security pass."

"Most excellent."

No need for trickery in the conference room this time as he adhered the bug on the window. He simply wandered over and took in the outlook silently. He suspected Elaine stayed silent so he would not be tempted to go into another uncomfortably insane rave about the 'artistic' view.

Later, Frank had hoped he would be introduced to Miss Jones in the Human Resources department to continue his induction session, but it was not to be. He was instead sat next to someone called Dave Devereaux.

Frank sighed and stared heavy lidded about the room trying to pick her out from the immediate people sitting around. He doubted Miss Jones had anything to do with what was going on – an innocent bystander – but all avenues had to be covered. His eyes fell on the most likely candidate, her name badge confirming his suspicion. Getting to his feet, he limped to the front of her desk. "Heather…Heather Jones?"

She looked up from her paperwork. "Yes?"

Frank further approached. "It's me—" she shook her head in confusion, so he pointed a thumb at himself, "—Ben."

"Ben?" She stared at him, her face making a good attempt at masking the fact that she was clueless as to who he was. Eventually, she did the very thing Frank knew she would – rather than to appear ignorant, she plastered on a smile and said, "of course…Ben. I didn't recognise you with, erm—"

Frank lifted his glasses to show her his face; "They make me look different, yes? I'm surprised you didn't pretend not to know me after…well, you know?"

Several heads rose curiously from their workstations or tipped their way, hoping for some gossip about their colleague and the newbie.

Heather's brows sank and she opened her mouth to say something in denial. _"Oops!"_ Frank thought, _"pushing my luck."_ So before she could say anything he let his walking stick fall and dipped to retrieve it, using it as the opportunity to attach the small disc bug to the table leg.

"You okay?" Heather asked when he popped up again.

"Clumsy be thy middle name, as well you know. We'll have to catch up." Frank quickly returned to Dave Devereaux.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Back finally at his Compute-Soft office desk, Frank found a memo from Nick asking him to start on the newsletter, giving hints and tips in a firm and easy to follow set of instructions. Nick, though terrible face-to-face…_chest_, was great on paper – even going as far as to apologise for the lack of deadline and including snippets that Vanessa must have put together. Snippets that, upon reading, proved to be outstanding pieces of work. They should never have let her go. If they could make concessions for Nick's foibles, then it was nonsensical to sack Vanessa for looking at the 'net, which was a related activity to her job!

Sighing loudly, Frank booted up his PC and logged onto Compute-Soft's system using the username and password he had now been issued with. He quickly scanned the room to check if he was being observed and, satisfied no one was interested, unlocked his drawer and lifted out his briefcase. From within, he pulled forth a flashcard which he inserted into one of the spare USB ports on his PC. The computer whirred softly as it recognised a new piece of software and an icon appeared at the bottom left hand side of his screen.

Frank opened 'My Computer' to access the programme, selected it and sat back with his arms folded as a dotted line counted down the seconds until it reached zero. The message 'Click Okay to Activate' appeared. Frank did and what appeared to be a Word document opened with a text box in the corner, surreptitiously concealing itself from all but the most nosy of passersby.

Seconds later the purposefully pale words: _"Hey Frank"_ appeared.

Frank leaned forward and began typing. "Hey Van. Ready?"

_"Yep."_

"Tell Joe the bugs are in place so he can test them now."

_"'Kay."_

There was a prolonged pause in proceedings until Van came back with: _"All good."_

Frank gave her the details of which bugs were on which sub-channels and asked her to email the first draft of the newsletter before bidding her goodbye.

The remainder of the morning was spent looking through Vanessa's list which had been scanned and transposed onto disc. As opposed to Van, he went through it meticulously with a fine-tooth comb, not haphazardly and randomly as she had. In doing so, he uncovered a further batch of anomalies. They proved to be just as much a mixture as before with Compute-Soft either winning from the mistakes, or soundly losing out.

Now he was saying goodbye to the final recipient of one of many phone calls he had made, a deep frown on his face as he replaced the receiver. He printed off a page from the accounts database, shot his swivel chair back to collect it from the printer tray and then spent five minutes carefully highlighting a number of entries.

Spinning, he pivoted back to the keyboard and reduced the screen down, Vanessa's first draft newsletter filling his view as he sat back solicitously, tapping at his chin. He opened up the disguised instant messenger box and started typing at arm's length: "Yo, I think I just made a breakthrough."

He had to wait a couple of minutes for a response, as Vanessa was clearly preoccupied so he shuffled the computer printouts together and slid them into his briefcase. Eventually she came back with: "Hold that thought. J and I have to go to see Mom. Mr H has taken over listening."

Frank leaned forward again: "Dad's back?"

"Light duties."

Frank shook his head disapprovingly and grunted.

*****

Vanessa was sitting at Frank's desk communicating with him back at Compute-Soft. Because of the angle she was at, she could not see Joe as he was sitting at his father's workstation, so she had to raise her voice to talk to him. "Joe, Frank said you should try and listen in now."

"Already am, Babes. Can you ask the dude to tell me where all four bugs are located?"

"He's doing that now." She picked up her pen expectantly and waited, then started scribbling as Frank dictated the list. Once finished, she took it across to her boyfriend.

All was then silent in the office until lunchtime with both Vanessa and Con respecting the fact Joe needed to concentrate, the only distraction being the kettle going on and off continuously as Con made cup after cup of coffee, to the point where Vanessa was tempted to sneak the jug out of the office just to see what would happen. She was willing to bet he would be jumping off the walls after half an hour of enforced abstinence.

Con was just finishing off yet another steaming mug when the main door opened. They all watched as Laura and Fenton entered the room. Vanessa heard Con take a breath, ready to verbalise some sort of pre-emptive dissent, but Laura beat him to it.

"It's okay, Con. This time Fenton really _has_ been given clearance, but for light duties only! After yesterday, I thought I should come and explain or you'd be likely to wrestle him back into the car to bring him back home."

Con folded his arms and gave Fenton a hard stare. "Light duties," he emphasized. Vanessa realised it was his way of allowing Fenton access to the office but without abdicating the 'boss' role he lately had to step into.

"Yeah yeah, I know," Fenton grouched.

Joe laughed and both Fenton and Con glared at him.

"Not funny, Champ!" Con said.

"Too old for Champ, and anyway, I wasn't laughing at that. The girls in the personnel section are all talking about Frank. Saying that if he wasn't such a klutz, he'd be a real hottie! They're daring each other to get him to take his glasses off."

"That's my boy, making an impression everywhere he goes," Laura smirked. "I'm off shopping, see you later – might give Andrea a call," she said and flashed Con a cheeky look.

"I don't think mom is up to shopping, she's working to a deadline," Vanessa offered.

"Oh well." Laura gave Fenton a kiss and left.

Vanessa's cell phone began to vibrate so she reached for it and hit the green button, noticing Frank had IM-ed her at the same time. "Hi Mom."

"Hi baby. I was wondering if Con…or someone else…could come over."

"Are you okay?"

"I think so, I just need someone to come over."

"Okay, we'll be there soon." Vanessa closed down the connection with her mother, turned towards her computer and started returning a message to Frank.

"What's happening?" Con prompted.

Vanessa was still typing and didn't look up. "I'm not sure, but Joe and me need to go and see Mom."

"I—" Con started to say and then followed it up with. "Okay."

Vanessa glanced up this time to see that Joe had abandoned his station and had moved into the doorway to hear what was happening.

"I'll take over for Joe, that's light duties, right?" Fenton muttered.

Joe strode across the office and pulled Vanessa up out of her chair giving her barely enough time as to swipe her handbag up off the floor. "Set up another one of the receivers, one isn't enough, it's too difficult to listen into four transmitters at once," he said. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

*****

Vanessa knew something was up when the front door began to move before she'd even gotten her key to the lock. Her mother swung it wide and yanked her in, nearly slamming the door in Joe's face as he attempted to enter – missing the fact he had been standing largely out of sight to the side.

"Mom!" Vanessa said and put her hand to the door before it broke her boyfriend's nose. She seemed to be exclaiming _"__Mom__!"_ rather a lot lately. She was starting to offend herself, so she knew it must be irritating everyone else.

"What's up?" Joe asked Andrea, after finally getting inside and pushing the door too. He returned Rebel's welcoming wet-nose-to-hand nudge with a pat.

"There's someone watching the house and this came earlier." She held up another white envelope. It had the same typeface as the previous blackmail note Vanessa had received.

Vanessa stepped away without offering to take it so Joe accepted it on her behalf. He examined the envelope, but opted not to open it yet. "How do you know someone's been watching the house?"

"Because he's been there all morning, and he's still there."

Joe's lip twitched and jaw hardened. "Show me," he requested gruffly.

Andrea took them up the stairs and into the bedroom Con had been using, before leading them to the window that offered a full view of the neighbours' abodes opposite, and the road in front. They looked out as she raised her hand to point before stopping with a startled "Oh!" and looking left and right, perplexed. Finally, she crossed to the other side of the room to look out the side window. "Snap! He's gone. I swear he was standing underneath that street lamp down there and staring at the house. He must have seen me looking back at him as I made my presence obvious to try and scare him away, but it didn't work. He unnerved me."

"Why didn't you call us, we'd have come over," Vanessa gently chided.

"I did and you're here!"

"I mean…who didn't you call us earlier, when you realised something was up?"

"I didn't want to make a fuss, and besides, I had Rebel here, no one's going to mess with this big boy!" Andrea bent down and gave the dog a pat and received a lick on the chin for her trouble. She smiled fondly. "He never leaves my side."

Joe was still pacing from window to window to try and catch sight of anything unusual. "What did this man look like?" he asked, not breaking stride.

"Tall, quite well built…dark hair…maybe – hard to tell as he had a cap on. Jeans, black jacket. His clothes looked expensive, but they were scruffy, or rather, they were wearing _him_, rather than the other way around."

"White trainers?"

"Black shoes."

"Any idea of age?"

Andrea frowned slightly. "Couldn't tell from here, but they didn't look brand spanking new—"

"—not the shoes, guy…his age?"

"Oh! My impression was that it wasn't a really young person like you, he wasn't light on his feet."

Joe spared a look at his girlfriend. "Your blackmailer," he surmised and looked out of the window again. "Your neighbours, are they as observant as you?"

"I don't know many of my neighbours, not the people on the other side of the road, anyway. The house directly opposite is empty, they moved out a while ago. The house has a problem with its foundations so they're having trouble selling it."

Joe nodded. "Do they all work?"

"The majority, and we haven't any babies living in the closest houses, so I doubt many people will be home right now. The children are at school."

Turning away from the window, Joe looked down at the envelope that was still in his hand. "You wanna open this, Babes?" he asked Vanessa.

"I'm not salivating at the thought and I don't think you should either." They both looked at Andrea and Joe offered out the package.

Andrea clasped her hands tightly in front of her. "I don't want to do it – why do I have to do it?"

They all three looked ludicrously down at Rebel, who gazed, limp tongued, back up at them. His eyes lifted in the centre and his head swivelled curiously – he certainly didn't seem to have a problem with opening it.

Andrea tittered nervously, "This is stupid…give it here Joe," she held out her hand. Taking it back, she sighed audibly and slid her thumb along the flap, opening it without ripping any of the paper. Before she took out what was inside, she pulled the sides apart and inspected the contents. "No photographs," she reported.

Calamity avoided, Vanessa reached for Joe's hand and Andrea pulled out a folded piece of white paper. She unfurled it and read it to herself, her eyes roved quickly from one side of the page to the other. Eventually, she looked up at Joe again and thrust it out. "You boys have to do something about this before something terrible happens to my daughter."

Joe took the paper and read aloud:

"…I told you not to test me, Vanessa Bender, now you are responsible for your own fate. Call off the dogs or your boyfriend will find out about your betrayal. And that is just the start..."

Joe's voice slowed to a grinding halt and he looked across at Vanessa, his mouth set into a hard thin line, a tick throbbing at the side of his temple.

"Bet you enjoy being described as a 'dog'?" Andrea said, "no offense, Rebel."

Vanessa rested a calming hand on Joe's forearm, it was tight, the muscles and tendons taut and unyielding. She misread his expression. "Please Joe, it isn't true, there is no betrayal."

Joe's head stiffly nodded, "I know," he said and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. "But I'm ending this now," he said, sounding as calm as a millpond. He turned on his heel and went from the room, "as I should have done in the first place."

"Joe?" Vanessa asked and followed after him. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to sort things out at Compute-Soft," Joe said, and took off down the stairs.

Vanessa yelled, "No, you can't, you'll blow Frank's cover…we have to sit down and think about things."

"Babes, I'm going to claim my pound of flesh!" Joe bellowed back.

Running to the banister, Vanessa delivered a final shouted, "JOE!" to try and stop him, but it was too late, the front door was already swinging shut where he'd exited. Seconds later, the sound of the car peeling away from the front drive with a wheel spin wafted up the stairs to a shocked Vanessa, Andrea and Rebel.


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning: Review before allowing your children to read (nothing amazingly 'out there' though)**

**Chapter 20**

Joe was about half way towards Compute-Soft when rational thought finally beat through his blind fury and bullied its attention seeking way to his frontal lobe. His mutterings and swearing petered off, to be replaced with the question: "What the hell am I doing?"

He had no idea what any of the perpetrators looked like other than Lawrence Bale, and he could not even be sure Bale was directly involved – or Nick come to that…other than to look at his girl's assets. Joe's lip lifted as he considered that not looking at them would have been a crime in itself! So what he was going to do when he got to Compute-Soft, other than to shout at the receptionist?

Joe shook his head and bounced the heel of his hand down against the steering wheel, so hard that it sent his wrist buzzing. He glared for no reason at another driver as his van passed innocently by and received a filthy look back.

Where had his temper gotten him so far with this case? Nowhere, simply across town having abandoned Vanessa and Andrea, leaving them vulnerable with a blackmailer hanging around. A blackmailer who had promised Vanessa harm.

And look what his temper had done to Frank too; hitting him with a dumbbell …what was that all about? Even as an accident, to throw something that heavy was a brain dead thing to have done!

Why had he, even for an instant, thought that Frank and Vanessa would have done something like that to him – an affair? It was not in either of their genetic make-ups to do such a low down despicable thing. Didn't he trust Frank at face value anymore?

He paused as it gave him food for thought, his eyebrow peaking.

It was true! He was certain Frank had his back as he always did, but Joe had to admit he did not know if his brother was always telling him the entire truth, the whole story. Reality was biting him in the ass that Frank's recent past had driven a wedge between them. It was small, tiny, but it was lodged there, and that small doubt had outed itself at the sight of that shitty photograph.

He would not have blamed Frank if he had ditched and walked that day, but instead, he had been so reasonable about it. Had not even gotten angry, despite how painful that dumbbell to the chest must have been. He had just suffered it, along with the other things Joe had hurled at him that morning, all that foul abuse. Frank had uttered only one sentence in his own defence, and that was only to state that he had had enough of the insults.

Maybe Frank knew why Joe had blown up and had chosen to take it on the chin – yeah, that made sense.

What Joe had done had left him feeling like crap though. The kind of deep-set, sick inducing, self-loathing that he was not going to be easily remedied. When he had drugged Frank that time, it felt similar, but this time he could not justify it. This hadn't been done for Frank's own good, Joe had just jumped to the blackmailer's tune.

He also suspected that Frank had somehow persuaded his dad from intervening as not a word had been said. Yeah, the agency was for all intents and purposes his dad's company and nepotism was rife, but that could only offer protection for so far and he probably should have been sacked. Heck, Vanessa had lost her job for simply accessing the Internet. Life was so unbalanced.

His hand strayed to the back of his neck and he rubbed furiously.

He was sliding back into his old skin – all reaction, jumping the gun…jumping at shadows, macho pride and manly beating of chest. The counting backwards from ten-to-one a forgotten mental tool. He was over compensating, seeking retribution for what had and was being done to all three of them, and because of that, he was tripping himself up.

Joe's cell phone started to trill so he signalled and coasted the car to a halt at the side of the road. He lifted the handset from the passenger seat and saw that it was his father ringing. Immediately his thumb hit the red button to let the messaging service take it. He needed to think. He didn't want to be yelled at. So he powered down the phone entirely and tossed it back onto the passenger seat.

He reached to switch on his antiquated car tape/radio player, but in the rear view mirror caught sight of a car parked up to his bumper. He had been so deep in thought that he'd not noticed it pulling up. Then came a sharp tap against the window and he jerked around to find a hand making a rolling gesture, so he did just that.

"Can I see your I.D. and driving license, The Blond One?" said the male uniformed figure.

"What are you doing here?"

James bent to look in, removing his cap. "That's a bit unfriendly, considering how long it's taken me to find you."

"Van called the office did she? Why did they send you out?"

"Again…friendly much! They figured it wasn't a good idea for Unc to come out as he was seen in the woods by at least one of the suspects. Your dad's on light duties, apparently, which doesn't include running all over town after his mad son – good call, considering he's got a black eye the size of Texas. So I drew the short straw," he paused and patted his nightstick, "I was given orders to arrest you if necessary and haul your ass to the clink!"

Joe tensed. "You really wanna try that?"

"Not really. I don't rate my chances single handed, given you've got a good two inches and fifty pounds of muscle on me." Joe failed to laugh so James peered thoughtfully for a few seconds before saying, "come on," and opening the car door. "Let's get a donut somewhere, I haven't eaten one for at least half an hour."

"No, I've got to get back to Vanessa, I left her at the house on her own with her mom."

"Unc's with them."

"I need to at least ring in."

"Did it when I spotted your car. Come on," James repeated, "ten minutes won't make a difference. You look like you could do with chewing someone's ear off. Look on me as an independent sympathiser." James opened the door even wider and stood aside. He simply was not going to take "no" for an answer.

Joe turned his head away and gave it a couple more seconds of deliberation before taking his key out of the ignition and joining James on the sidewalk. They turned and headed back the way they had come, James clearly knowing of a place they could get afternoon refreshments.

"Where's Bach?" Joe asked, in reference to James's usual partner.

"Collig's reallocated him to another cop for a while."

"A case?"

James pulled a face. "I'm desk-bound. Something big's goin' down."

"So The Chief's got you doing something important, yeah?"

"No, the opposite, he's keeping me out of it."

"Can I ask why?"

James stopped dead and turned to look levelly at Joe. "Uh, sorry, I can't. But you know I said before that I needed all the brownie points I can get?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I need all the brownie points I can get. So if Team-Hardy can see its way to pushing some my way, it would be appreciated."

Without warning there came a loud cracking, gun-like noise further up the road behind them. Joe physically jerked, took three steps at a full-pitched run and crashed through the nearest doorway into a lawyer's expensively dressed reception area. An older man behind the counter turned on his heel from where he had had his head in a filing cabinet. For some reason surprise was not the emotion he was showing, more professional curiosity.

Joe stopped just past a sofa, embarrassed at what he had just done, his heart still hammering with the shock of it and turned sheepishly to see James staring incongruously through the glass door before coming through. "A car backfired, you okay?"

"Yeah, jeeze – I think I'm getting phobic again!"

James started to laugh.

"Dude, it isn't funny, this is bad. I can't be jumping at every loud noise."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

"Are you running from the police?" interrupted the man behind the front desk.

"No."

"Then what can I help you with, gentlemen?"

"Do you have access to donuts, Sir?" James asked, slipping his cap back on.

"I'm afraid not."

"Then you can't help us and we'll be on our way." He touched the brim of his hat and dropped his chin. "Thank you for your cooperation, Sir. Much appreciated."

*****

Con and James stepped up to Andrea's door. Con reached out to press the doorbell and then received a tense look from his nephew who had cans of beer dangling from one hand and a bouquet of flowers clutched in the other.

"Relax, buddy." Con muttered and turned to look at the cars in the front yard. It seemed they were the last to arrive as he could see Joe's motorcycle, Frank's sporty number and the Hardy's family sedan.

"Easy for you to say. The last time I met Mrs Bender I was wrecking her house. And I'm not used to attending family gatherings that don't end in a drunken free-for-all slug fest!"

"Assume nothing, Nephew. Joe's wound up and primed like a coiled spring."

"Something smells great." James started bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Laura and Andrea's own work."

"Do you think it'll be something other than pizza and burgers. So sick of pizza and burgers. Pizzas and burgers…boring…anything else…I'm so edgy, why am I so edgy, Unc?"

The door opened and Andrea smiled at them, then she frowned in confusion as James thrust the six-pack of beers into her hands. "Why thank you, James."

"I want to say sorry, Mrs Bender, for shooting up your hallway." James blurted out respectfully.

Con dipped to whisper in James's ear, "Might work better if you gave her the flowers."

Beet red, James did a quick switch-a-rooney. "I want to say sorry, Mrs Bender, for shooting up your hallway."

"It's fine James, your uncle fixed everything up – it's no longer 'Mrs' by the way, it's just plain Andrea. You've been rehearsing that line for a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I have. Meant it though."

"You were protecting my daughter and Nancy, so nothing to apologise for." She buried her nose and took in the flowers' scent. "They're beautiful, thank you. How did you know yellow roses are my favourite?"

"Vanessa told me. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Bender."

"Andrea. And it's my pleasure. You should give your Uncle lessons in etiquette."

"What do you mean?" Con held up a green bottle. "I bought wine…and it cost more than five dollars! See?" He put it under Andrea's nose and pointed to the neck of the bottle at the price tag.

"I rest my case," Andrea breathed and moved back. "Come in boys".

They stepped over the threshold and immediately James was almost knocked off his feet by Rebel who had dashed at full-pelt down the hall to fling himself at his buddy.

"Ooof! Rebel, you're really packin' a punch, are you getting fat?" James asked.

"Wouldn't surprise me with all the treats he's been getting." Andrea said, joining in with stroking the over excited animal. Con glowered down at her and she caught his look. "Oops, did I just say that out loud? I think I'll go and put these flowers into the washroom sink until I can get them into a vase." She started up the hall towards the stairs, Con keeping pace.

"What have you been feeding him?" he hissed.

She waved a dismissive palm in his face. "Healthy stuff – carrot sticks, apples, other hale and hearty nibbles. Bacon."

Con's face darkened. "What?"

"Uh, is everyone through here?" James asked, pointing towards the noise of chatter coming from further inside the house, his upper body leaning as though an invisible cord was pulling him towards the voices and away from the line of fire. He didn't wait for a response, just went through.

Con slammed the bottle of wine firmly down onto the hall table next to Vanessa's handbag before lifting an eyebrow at Andrea. "Woman, what did I say to you about feeding my dog garbage?" he pulled the washroom door open and took her by the upper arm.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked in mock horror as he pushed her through and shut the door.

"Deep, dark trouble."

Andrea backed up until her retreat was stopped by the basin.

He stomped up and slid an arm around her waist to pull her up into a prolonged kiss, the trapped bouquet wrapper crinkling between their bodies. She reached up with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck.

Eventually they came up for air, grinning stupidly.

"This is like being a teenager again, sneaking around." Andrea said and turned to flick on the faucet. "I feel twenty years younger. If we get caught, we'll be sooooo grounded!"

"That reminds me. Laura knows."

Andrea spun round, "What? How?"

Con felt flustered, not sure of Andrea's reaction. "I didn't tell her…not on purpose anyway. Yesterday when I took Fenton home, she saw my 'twinkle'."

Andrea's mouth dropped open, her eyes travelling down.

"She said I had a twinkle in the eye…whatever that is. To cut a long story short, she just plain guessed and tricked me into admitting it. And you know, I can't lie, not to Laura anyway, she knows me too well. She won't tell anyone."

"I wondered why she was winking at me."

Con reached quickly to knock the faucet down and cut off the current, in time to stop it overflowing. "Have I blown it?" he asked quietly, looking into the clear pool. He could see his face reflected back, along with the overhead light. They undulated and merged into an unrecognisable shape as a drip fell from the tap and disturbed the water.

"Blown what?" Andrea asked, sliding the roses gently into the sink.

"Us. You and me. Did I fall at the first hurdle by not keep to our agreement?"

"Riley, have you no faith at all?" she pulled him down and upturned her face to deliver a peck to his forehead. "Laura Hardy sees all, she reads people like a book. It's the one power both her boys have inherited that didn't come directly from Fenton. She'd have seen a twinkle in me just as quickly, you just had the misfortune of running into her first."

"See? That's why I love you." Con smiled at her in the mirror. "You always surprise me by saying something that makes me feel like a darned fool for underestimating myself."

"What did you just say?"

"You make me feel like an idiot because—"

"No, not that, the other thing."

"What? I…" Con stopped dead and then whirled away with a grimace and a palm covering his eyes. "Man alive!"

Then her hand was on his, pulling his fingers away to make him look at her. "Did you mean it?"

"Uh…"

"Did you mean it?" She snapped fiercely.

Con cast his eyes to the ceiling for a second before levelling his concentrated gaze on her. "Yes," he finally confirmed with a grave nod. "I did and I do, I think I just realised it." He felt the back of his mouth start to dry up, waiting for the inevitable words of rejection.

"Not just me then."

"What?"

Con's mouth dropped open, so Andrea took this as an invitation and allowed their lips to come zinging together again. Their embrace became intense as Andrea's hands slid up his back until they were pulling him by the shoulders securely into her, slotting them both together.

Con was weightless again, his head heading for that light fitting. But this time, he knew Andrea was along for the ride in his arms, their senses swirling every bit as much as the water had been earlier. Everything had moved so fast in just a few days, yet it felt so natural, not rushed – destiny. He twirled her soft hair into a knot feeling the most content then he had ever felt in his life, his heart soaring at his own luck.

Suddenly, a loud scratching noise cut through and their heads turned toward the door, their celebratory clinch abruptly interrupted. They had failed to notice Rebel had been with them the entire time. Not having received any attention, the dog had become bored and was trying to get out to join the rest of the guests in the sitting room. Too late to rectify their mistake, the door was yanked open.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Gasping in shock that someone was about to catch them making out in the downstairs toilet, Con and Andrea jumped apart, whilst Rebel, the guilt party who had betrayed them, shot by a pair of legs through the now open doorway and was gone.

It was Laura, who looked just as surprised as they did. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, and began shutting the door again.

"It's okay," Con said. He caressed Andrea's fingers for an instant before pushing by Laura to get out, "I've told Andrea that you know about us being together." He paused for a second and went back for the wine, feeling his heart still warmly beating fast. He was just in time to see Andrea being shoved back into the washroom by Laura and the door being closed again.

Con entered the living room, but was perturbed to find it deserted.

"We're through here, Zarkoff," Fenton called.

Con followed his voice through to a connecting space that he had never been into before. All the Hardy men, Vanessa and James were sitting around a huge dining table, which was far too big for the room. If it had been a billiard table, there would have been no room for the full stretch of a cue.

Fenton was still wearing his darkened glasses, which seemed odd as he was not going to offend anyone with his bruising by taking them off. Con considered whether Fenton secretly liked the air of brooding inscrutability it gave him.

He was not the only one hiding fading injuries – Frank was wearing a turtleneck sweater, despite the uncomfortable temperature in the room. Con doubted that Laura knew about Joe's loss of control and the last thing Frank wanted to do was draw attention to his haematoma neck collar.

James shoved one of the chairs out with his foot as an invitation for Con to sit between him and Frank. "Safe here, Unc."

"Thanks." Con settled down and felt Rebel circling to lie at his feet under the table. He addressed Vanessa with a smirk, all the way over the other side of the room. "Does your mom hold poker tournaments?"

"Eh?"

He spread his arms wide over the table. "The size of it!"

Vanessa giggled. "Mom bought it for the farmhouse, but after we downsized, Mom didn't have the heart to get rid. Clinging to the dream of owning a farmhouse again…to be able to afford the upkeep. Things have been tighter since she had to close the studio."

Fenton cleared his throat. "Enough with the pleasantries, I want to know how it's been going at Compute-Soft." He looked over the top of his glasses at Frank. "Son?"

"Productive. Uncovered a couple of things. Perhaps the most interesting, but not necessarily the most important being about Nick Parton."

"Vanessa's ex-line manager?" Fenton asked.

"Correct."

"Tell me it's something we can use to teach him a lesson?" Joe pleaded.

"Sorry bro, no can do. He's not what he appears to be. He stared at my chest just as much as Van's, and—"

"So, he's multi-directional? That's even worse!"

Frank tipped his head. "Multi-directional? What on earth…?"

"You know – swings both ways?"

Frank sighed and shook his head as James sniggered. "No Joe, don't get ahead of yourself. He has A.S."

"A.S.?"

"Asperger Syndrome."

"What's that?"

"It's a condition that means Nick has trouble with social interaction and communication. Making eye contact will be difficult for him, as well as reading facial expressions and body language. It must affect his ability to form relationships, which is why Vanessa found it so difficult to work with him. Nick told me he thought Van had been 'excellent', which really meant something considering he must lack empathy."

Embarrassed at misjudging Nick Parton, and visibly angry, Vanessa blurted out. "I wish someone had told me! I didn't realise being psychic was part of my résumé!"

"Perhaps they thought Nick should tell you?"

"Hardly likely was it?"

Fenton put up a silencing hand. "Can we bear in mind that Mr Parton's condition doesn't automatically eliminate him as a suspect. He was still the one who provided Lawrence Bale with Vanessa's list. He could still be the instigator."

Frank nodded his acquiescence and Vanessa seemed mollified.

Joe, by contrast, looked downright disappointed. "I'm still not convinced he isn't a slime."

"Trust me, Bro, he's not the sexual predator at Compute-Soft, I doubt he even has a partner. The title of wanton deviant goes to Mr Bale's secretary, Elaine." Frank performed a histrionic shiver. "Practically assaulted me."

"Who assaulted you, sweetheart?" asked Laura from the doorway, holding a large and heavy looking serving pot.

Frank micro-flinched and his eyes slid towards his brother. Although being hit with the dumbbell hadn't been an 'assault' but an accident, Joe thought otherwise and apparently Frank had worked that out. Worse of all, Con knew that Frank's grimace, however small and controlled, was never going be missed by the quick-smart Laura Hardy.

Frank's mouth made a silent 'O'.

Joe reddened.

Laura's eyes narrowed.

James jumped up. "Let me help you with that, Mrs H," he said and spent the next few seconds carefully exchanging the hot dish from her hands into his, including the towel she was using to protect her skin from the burning heat.

Con was unsure if it was a deliberate act on his boy's part to create a diversion, or whether he was just being well mannered, but it worked and Laura went back out again with a smile and a thank you.

Twenty minutes later and they were tucking into a delicious meal; the dish of potatoes on its way around the table, everyone having to practically lie prostrate across the tabletop with their arms at full stretch to pass it around.

Frank was in the middle of telling them about his further findings: "The earlier companies that Vanessa highlighted had been charged the full amount for a product they didn't receive – they appear to have now been given a refund, at least in the earlier cases. More recent examples I've uncovered haven't…yet. Most telling is that those reimbursements aren't recorded as refunds; it just looks as if they've been invoiced for the lesser charge. In my opinion someone is on the take. Someone is charging customers the full amount, then waiting to see if the 'oversight' is noticed, if not, the money is pocketed and the accounts and order form altered to cover it up. God knows how long it's been going on for."

"Lawrence Bale?"

"He certainly wanted Vanessa gone quickly when she noticed the anomalies in the accounts, and he must have free access to the finance databases. After all, he is the CEO."

"How would Nick Parton or Heather Jones feature in this?"

"I don't know that any of the above feature in it, even Bale, but it's looking less likely to be Nick Parton. Would he be able to communicate sufficiently on a personal level to be able to act as an accessory? As for Heather Jones…" he shrugged, "…absolutely no evidence of involvement, other than being called to sit in as a witness to Van being sacked. And from what Vanessa said, Heather was pretty uncomfortable."

Fenton finally removed his glasses and placed them down to rub between his eyes. "It is looking a little far-fetched as far as Nick and Heather are concerned. Did you make any further progress?"

"I phoned the companies that had received the software products…in the guise of doing a satisfaction questionnaire, to see if I could gauge if anyone had noticed they'd not received the product they'd ordered. While I was doing that, I found something else out..." Pausing, Frank stretched for the potatoes as Joe propelled the serving dish towards him to give it a head start.

"What did you find?" Fenton prompted.

Frank lifted the lid and started spooning food onto his plate. "Every one of them had received and been charged for an additional after sales inspection of the new software. Which is...well...weird."

"What's so strange about that?" Con asked, accepting the potatoes as the next customer in the queue.

"None of the companies knew anything about it, denied it in fact…even though according to their accounts, they'd paid for it. Look," Frank lifted his briefcase and extracted a printout, "I highlighted all the entries."

Fenton accepted the paperwork and quickly flicked through them before sending it round the circle so everyone else could have a look. "That is odd."

"What does it mean?" Laura asked.

"It means that a mysterious benefactor is paying for an after sales service charge that doesn't exist and didn't happen."

The list had just reached Joe and he was reading the entries and slowly chewing on a mouth full of beef. Everyone was silent, senses numbed by confusion.

Laura tapped the table. "Oh come now, surely the might of the HR&S agency can come up with some sort of explanation as to why that's happening?"

"Money laundering, Dudes…" Joe piped up, pointing his knife at the paper.

"What?" Frank asked, mid bite.

"Money laundering. While you were in Seattle, I was researching—"

Frank gaped and his fork dropped back down onto his plate, food forgotten.

"—don't look so shocked! Yeah, even me, the self-proclaimed jock does research sometimes. How do you think I passed the time while you were on sabbatical? It wasn't all wild women and drink...although there was some of that I'll admit." Joe winked at Vanessa and switched his attention back to the paperwork. "Someone is paying their illicitly gained income through Compute-Soft's accounts."

"If you're assuming Lawrence Bale, why would he do that if he's already got the cash?" Frank challenged.

"Because of the amount he's taking. If it was just a few bucks here and there, not a problem, but it's a hefty amount, so the IRS were likely to start noticing. He could hardly hide that in his expenses for very long, could he, especially if he wanted to invest it? And I don't see him as the 'hiding-my-money-under-the-mattress' type."

"I see what you mean," Con said. "He needs to make it legitimate?"

"Exactly. What he probably does is place his ill-gotten gains into a temporary account and then feeds it all back into the business in the guise of a legitimate charge – in this case, through false invoicing of an after sales service. Then pays it back to himself legitimately either in the form of a wage, bonus, or expense. All above board, tax paid."

Miffed at being out performed, Frank leaned to snatch the papers back. Taking a quick look, he said triumphantly, "but if that was the case, the extra money squirreled away from Compute-Soft's products would tally with the service charge amount on each account. But it doesn't."

Con caught Fenton's eye and they smirked. Frank's expression was one of, "HA! Explain that one away, Bro!" as he had lobbed the verbal challenge at his brother.

Joe immediately volleyed it back, "Who's to say this is the only scam he's running, Dude? It's just the only one we've uncovered. He'd be a pretty dumb criminal if he 'invoiced' for the exact same amount fleeced, wouldn't he? He wouldn't want to create a pattern."

Frank said nothing, just scooped up a large amount of potato and shoved it into his mouth.

"Joe, that was brilliant!" Vanessa said in admiration.

"As I keep trying to tell everyone…don't be fooled by the handsome exo-skin and baby blues."

"Is Bale the blackmailer then?" Andrea asked.

Frank swallowed. "No. The physical descriptions don't match and he was in the office when the blackmailer was hanging around outside earlier. It's probably an accomplice, or someone he's hired."

"Who's being blackmailed?" Laura asked.

Con blanched and Fenton made a noise in his throat. No one had given a second thought again to the fact that Laura knew nothing about that situation. Everyone was too 'into' the discussion to consider what they were going to say before opening mouths and spewing forth. Fenton put his glasses back on and sank back, becoming invisible.

Laura waited.

Then Joe, surprising everyone for the second time that evening, by calmly answered his mother's question. "It was Vanessa. Someone took a photograph of her and Frank in a certain pose to get a list she'd taken from Compute-Soft. They were going to send it to me if she didn't do as she was told."

"What kind of photograph?"

The atmosphere in the room became oppressive within an instant.

Eventually Fenton spoke. "It was just a picture. It doesn't matter."

Laura looked around the table at everyone's faces. "It clearly does. Don't think I missed that look Frank and Joe gave each other earlier – nice attempt at a cover-up though, James. I'll ask again, what was the photograph of?"

Frank's eating utensils hit his plate with a clatter. "Bathroom visit," he muttered and got up from the table to leave.

Vanessa rose up as well.

"What aren't you all telling me?" Laura asked and reached to stop Vanessa from going in the same direction as Frank. "Don't go, honey."

"I'm not, I'm getting the picture for you. It's in my purse – it wasn't fair to leave it pinned up in the office so I brought it home." Vanessa paused by Joe's chair, "Is that okay, Sweetie?"

Joe thought for a moment and then shrugged an agreement.

Vanessa was back a second later with her bag. She pulled out the picture and gave it to Laura. After a few seconds of surveying the photo, Laura said: "It's a lovely picture."

"Mrs H, but did you just say 'it's a lovely picture'?" James asked.

"Yes I did, why?"

"It wasn't the reaction Frank got out of me," Joe muttered.

Laura smiled. "Well it is a nice picture, but that's all it is. If whoever took this thought it was a picture of a couple in a lovers' embrace, then they know little about non-verbal communication and posturing. Lovers don't hold one another like that. If Frank and Vanessa were having an affair, their whole bodies would be touching but their lower bodies aren't. So if they are embracing, it's only as friends." She raised her shoulders and smiled. "It really is a well taken photograph, can I have a copy?"

Con got up and went to join Fenton who had also raised himself to lean over Laura's shoulder and take a reappraising look. When he looked himself, Con had to admit that Laura was right on the nose, Frank and Vanessa's bodies definitely were not connecting, only their arms and very upper bodies.

Frank warily re-entered the space, so Con caught his eye and grinned as a way of letting him know all was well.

Vanessa was almost laughing, probably in relief, at Laura's valid assessment and accepted the picture back. She put it back into her purse and started fiddling with the zipper to close it again. "I can scan you a copy if you really want one, Mrs H." She frowned down at her bag and then pulled something free, which she held up in triumph. "At last, my luck is changing, I found a pin!"

Frank immediately plucked it from her fingers and dropped it into a glass jug of mineral water. Too light to sink, it floated on the membrane at first until Frank pushed it under, and then it quickly dropped to the bottom.

"What did you do that for?" Vanessa asked.

"_Van…that wasn't a pin, it was a bug. Someone's been listening to you."_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Frank's eyes cracked open and he forced them to lock and focus onto the digital clock display. It was gone four in the morning, a little over half an hour since he had last woken. What was it this time? He discounted the possibility that he had had a nightmare, as he did not have those anymore. In fact, he rarely dreamed at all nowadays – was that unhealthy? He was unsure, but it sure beat waking up sweating and screaming with your heart hammering fit to explode, and punching the air to fend off something that wasn't there.

He rolled over onto his back, tucked his arm snugly under the pillow and curled his hand lightly around grip of the gun resting there. Then he relaxed. However, after ten minutes of enforced immobility it was clear his fitful slumber was not going to return any time soon.

Ever since Vanessa had found the transmitter pinned to her bag, he'd had an ever present, niggling paranoia of being observed and it was making him skittish. Something felt wrong. But after his apartment had been turned over and trashed by the Pandora Posse he had not felt one hundred percent safe in his space anyway, so he was unsure if he should really be concerned.

As soon as he had returned that evening, he had unpacked his hand-held counter surveillance unit and had swept his entire living space. Nothing had registered as suspicious…just the same as all the other times he had 'cleaned'. But it had not reassured him, he still felt exposed.

Maybe it was time to sell up and move? He half smiled, "…maybe into a warden controlled apartment with the oldies?"

He decided to heat up some milk as there was little point in lying there in the dark, in his pit, listening to the heavy silence and the sound of his own blood pumping around his head.

Hitting the lamp switch, he swung his legs out and perched on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before reaching for his t-shirt from the back of the chair and pulling it on.

He first padded barefoot to the kitchen and put some milk on to boil, and then while he was waiting, went to the front door and put his eye to the peephole. No one was there, just the view of a mutedly lit empty corridor and the elevator door across the hall. The one hundred and eighty degree wide-angle view made the metal doors humorously concave in shape.

Stepping back, he checked all the locks again and yanked on the chain to reassure himself that he was and would remain, alone. He knew the chain would not keep someone determined with bolt cutters out, so it had not made his space impervious, but it would do the next best thing...it would rattle and allow him time to grab a gun, one of many he had secreted about the apartment. As far as Frank Hardy was concerned, a lightweight Glock in the hands of someone trained, partnered with a black belt in martial arts pretty much equalled invulnerability.

Going back to the kitchen, he was just in time to prevent a catastrophe. The milk was just reaching the top of the pan and was threatening to overspill onto his mirror-finished stovetop. Taking the last few steps at a sliding rush, he flicked off the heat and moved the pan aside, blowing onto the top of the bubbling mixture to speed up its decent.

Having finished the job, he picked up his cup and went to turn off the lights. Then he moved to the patio doors and slid open the vertical blinds so he could look out over Bayport without being seen.

Hugging the mug he gazed at the street lamp light show pitting itself against the gradually rising dawn light, the odd car adding to the ethereal effect. In the distance the orange sun was beginning its rise above the waters of Barmet Bay, struggling to peep though the quickly gathering storm clouds. Early morning silhouetted dots rose and fell – gulls searching for scraps of food. Suddenly the sky was lit up for an instant, once, twice…three times…with flashes of fork lightening sending the gulls swooping for cover. Frank began to count the seconds until the thunder rolled towards him, quietly at first but then building to a stampeding crescendo before passing overhead and moving away.

Maybe it had been storming earlier, and that was what had awakened him? He changed his mind; there was no way he could give up an apartment with such an awe-inspiring view!

Frank half laughed, thinking back on how publicly irked he had been when Joe had out-smarted him, something that was happening with worrying regularity now. He was tempted to start weight training just to put on muscle and take over his brother's role as 'the half with brawn'.

"Wait…"

The image of one of the photographs from the broken cell phone's memory card flashed up in his head, the one of Lawrence Bale handing over a wad of cash to an unknown person. Was Frank about to bash a hole straight through Joe's theory? If not, he was at least going to add another possibility to the mix – what if Lawrence Bale had not been laundering money for himself? What if he was putting it through the wash cycle for someone else?

Another round of lightening lit up Frank's intensely solicitous and concentrated features. This time he forgot to count as something else occurred to him:

If someone had been listening to Vanessa the entire time, then they must have been alerted to the fact he was going to try and get in at Compute-Soft. If it was the case that Bale had orchestrated the whole bugging escapade, then why had he let Frank work there and allowed his office to be wired? Could it be an elaborate ruse…a clumsy convoluted hoax? No, that made little sense – that would also mean Bale had submitted to Joe shoving him into a pile of rotting garbage. Surely no one would surrender themselves to that level of degradation?

An express train of realisation slammed Frank full in the face: "There's someone else out there unconnected to Compute-Soft who's interested in Van…but not just Vanessa. Whoever it is knows that women carry their purses everywhere, they knew that if they bugged her bag, then they'd be able to listen in on all of them…what the hell?!"

The thunder hit, louder this time and definitely much closer to home.

*****

Something was tickling Joe's cheek, irritating, itchy and prickly, something that was caressing and crawling…."GAH!" His eyes shot open, the horrifying portent being that a hairy spider was scuttling over him while he was sleeping. In reality, he found himself face-to-face with Rufus who had made a bed on his pillow in the night. It must have been Rufus's whiskers. Luckily, the _"GAH!"_ that Joe had shouted had been purely in his head, or he would have found himself dealing with a scratched cheek instead of an imagined creepy crawly. "What-cha want, fur ball wad?"

Rufus blinked a couple of times communicatively and then Joe heard the unmistakable sound of his front door being opened. Immediately he slipped out from beneath the bedclothes and dropped down onto his belly. Sliding his arm under the bed he began to grope about urgently for the baseball bat that he had flung just before the dumbbell that had hit Frank.

Rufus jumped silently to the floor and went to wait calmly by the door to stare up at the handle.

_"Joe, it's just me."_

Joe abandoned his search and went to push the door open. Sure enough, there was Frank, stock still and shocked in the middle of the living room dressed in that suit and carrying the now familiar brief case. "What are you doing here, Dude?"

"Aw-man-put-some-clothes-on!"

Joe looked down at himself and grinned unperturbed. He had not had time to consider his nudity. Suddenly chilled, he backed quickly into the bedroom and pulled on some sweatpants.

When he returned, Frank was shaking his head and fiddling with the front flap of his case on the sofa. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you Bro...although, I think I got the real scare – back to Seattle for me. I need to be quick or I'll be late to Compute-Soft." Fumbling the flap in his urgency, he tutted and started again. "I don't think the listening device Van found on her bag is directly linked to Lawrence Bale. I don't think it was pinned there by his orders." Finally getting the case open, Frank reached in and pulled something out. It was grey in color, fat, and about the size of a small paperback book. It filled his palm.

At first glance, Joe thought it was some sort of vintage hand-held games console, but did away with that idea just as quickly, knowing that Frank did not play electronic games. "What's that?" he asked, walking forward to get a better look. "Is that…" he pulled Frank's wrist closer, "…is that one of those control units for detecting hidden wires?"

Frank froze. "Yes."

"Where did you get it…or rather, why do you have the use for one?"

Another few seconds of silent stillness, followed by animated haste as Frank slapped the unit into Joe's hand and turned his attention back to his case. "Listen, I want you to do a sweep of your houseboat, and then do the same with the office, Vanessa's place and everyone's cars. There's a possibility that whoever bugged her didn't want to really spy on her, but us." Frank stood and headed for the door.

Joe's brain whirred with the subtle, but sudden change of subject, "Why do you think that?"

"I'll explain later, I've honestly gotta go because I want to talk to Heather Jones, but I need to swing by the office first." He motioned a hand towards the anti-surveillance device. "Do you think you can use one of those?"

"I can handle it, but Frank, can't you—"

"—Dad or Con'll be able to help. I gotta go. Later." Frank started making his way up the steps to leave, his hand reaching for the doorknob.

Joe took off after him, caught onto his suit jacket and yanked him back into the houseboat. "Oh no you don't." In one swift movement, Frank was behind him and Joe was spinning to stand with his back to the door, barring the exit.

"Hey!" Frank had yelped in surprise. He had gotten as far as opening the door, so that when he'd been forced to take a huge step downward, it had slammed shut. "What is it with you getting physical with me, huh?"

"When an immovable object presents itself, sometimes extreme force is needed. Is it startin' again?"

"Is what starting again?"

"The silence and secrets."

"Joe, I said we'll talk about the case later and I meant it. It can wait.

"Sure, the case can wait, but not this." Joe held up the unit and raised an eyebrow. "Fess-up, Dude."

They locked eyes, Frank at first staring through a hardened glaze, but the longer Joe held his intense look, the hazier the mental wall became until finally Joe said quietly: "Please."

"Fine, you win. I bought it over the web while I was in Seattle."

"Why?"

"It makes me feel safer, and as it turns out, I wasn't being as paranoid as I thought I was. I oughta trust my own instincts."

"Why do you need to feel safe? Is something going on that we should know about?"

"No. Think about it, Joe. My apartment got turned over by the Pandora Posse and then they shot at Dad and Con from my hallway, a bullet that might have been meant for me."

"But we've had our rooms searched before."

"Those were hotel rooms, never my personal space where I live alone. They totalled the place! It's not conducive to warm fuzzy feelings of security. So you can stop looking at me like that, I'm not turning all nutso again."

"Frank! You said you'd quit calling yourself stuff like that."

"What I said was that I'd try, but the odd phrase might drop in. And anyway, you can't judge me about 'silences and secrets'."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning...when are we going to talk about what happened with the dumbbell and when are you going to stop giving yourself a hard time about it? And in the woods, you wigged out when the gun play started, and then I got the brush off when I asked you about it."

"Embarrassed, on all counts."

Frank gave a little bow. "Welcome to my world, Joey. Now you know why I don't share everything. So what is it, the return of your ligyrophobia, your fear of loud noises?"

"Must be. A car backfired when I was with James yesterday and I nearly jumped out of my gourd."

"What about earlier this morning?"

Joe frowned and gave a quick shake of the head. "No comprende."

Frank jerked his thumb towards the porthole in the door. "This morning...when it was thundering."

"Thundering?"

"Am I talking double-Dutch? Yeah bro, when it was thundering, did you freak out then?"

"I didn't know it had been thundering."

Frank grinned and lightly punched him in the shoulder. "Well, there you go, it's not your phobia returning, it's a healthy fear of high velocity lead projectiles being hurled at your soft body – was it the first time you'd heard gunfire since the Pandora thing?"

"No...you shot that guy in the foot in River Heights, but I was out of it remember. Other than that..." Joe shrugged.

"A backfiring car would have sounded like a gunshot too. You'll get over it given time. And if not, we'll find a way of dealing with it."

Joe stepped aside and indicated that Frank could leave. As his brother remounted the steps, Joe asked, "how come you always do that?"

Frank looked back. "What?"

"Turn every discussion around so we're talking about me?"

"Bro, that's not me, that's you. Talk about ego-trip." He opened the door again. "Lunch?"

"Tony's pizza place? I'll pick you up from Compute-soft, meet you around the back."

"Bring Vanessa along. Don't let yourselves be seen."

*****

As soon as Frank was at his desk at Compute-Soft, he slid his briefcase into his drawer and then headed to see Heather Jones. Stick in hand, he rode the elevator down and entered the small, intimate sectioned-off personnel area. Four members of the little team were at their desks, but there was no sign of his quarry.

Frank addressed the man who had processed his paperwork the day before, "Hey Dave, is Heather in yet?" Noses began to rise in interest, the other team members no doubt hoping 'Ben' was about to make further admissions about their rumoured 'past involvement'.

"Right behind you."

Frank turned to find Heather making her way towards them. She must have heard his question to Dave Devereaux because her eyes immediately met his and she issued a wary, "Morning Ben."

"Heather…hi! Can I have a word with you, in private?"

"What about?"

"You know…like…private?" Frank was painfully aware that his performance yesterday had put her on the defensive, cool-to-freezing.

"I think I…" she started to say, but then paused as Frank shifted his body's angle to surreptitiously flash her his FBI badge, "…shouldn't have this conversation with you here," she finished. "Let's go to the upstairs meeting room."

Frank disapproved of using his FBI ID like Con did, it made him want to cringe quite frankly, but in this instance it had served a useful purpose. "Awesome."

The second the elevator doors shut and they were alone, Heather's control went and her lip started to tremble. She gulped and said shakily. "This is about Vanessa Bender."

It was not so much a question as a statement of fact and if Frank still had the ability to raise a surprised eyebrow, it would have been soaring high. "How did you know?"

Her eyes instantly welled up.

Frank felt an instant pang of guilt. "Don't get upset," he said and put his hand on her shoulder, she was quivering. He hated this part of the job. Throw anything at Frank Hardy and he could handle it, but an upset and frightened woman? That was way out of his comfort zone.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Nick warned me about you, thought you weren't who you seemed," Heather challenged Frank, wiping her tears away.

"Nick Parton?"

"He knew the second you started on that newsletter draft. He said it was Vanessa's work. He says that people's styles are like fingerprints. He can spot a person's technique from a mile away – like knowing one artist from another."

"Has he told Lawrence Bale about me?"

"Nick wouldn't do that, not after the way Mr Bale got rid of Vanessa when he went to him before. Nick said he won't tell him anything ever again. We never thought for an instant that you might be with the police though."

"I'm not with the police."

"But I thought—"

Frank silenced her by raising his palm. The door had started to slide as the elevator had reached their floor. "Hold that thought..." he muttered and they exited and strode wordlessly straight for the meeting room.

Once they were in the room, Heather slumped down into one of the chairs and Frank went about dropping down all the blinds to give them complete privacy. The merest glance at the window confirmed to Frank that the listening device he had adhered to the frame was still there, so Joe was in all probability listening in. The last thing he did before taking a seat himself was to draw off a cup of water from the cooler and hand it to the unnerved girl.

Frank shuffled the chair closer to the table. "Before we start, I just want to say that you're not in any sort of trouble Heather, but you might have some useful information that we can use."

"We?"

"I work for a detective agency and we're looking into a case for Vanessa. You see, things have been getting pretty weird in her life since she left Compute-Soft, no, worse than that – nasty."

"But I thought you were with the FBI?"

Frank did cringe then. "I am...kinda. Look, this is going to take some explaining." He glanced up at the wall clock. "Have you got time to let me explain?"

She nodded and Frank sat back and formally introduced himself. Then he moved on to recap the entire story, all the way from where Vanessa spotted what she thought was human error in the accounting, to her being pushed in the road, the night-time trespasser, receiving the blackmail note, and finally finding the pin in her bag. He left out the part about the gun play, deciding all that would achieve would be to frighten Heather even more.

Heather's eyes grew wider and wider until in the end, they were like saucers. "Poor Vanessa," she said. "I knew that having her contract terminated like that was harsh, but all that other stuff...it's just…yes…nasty!"

There was a pause as they both watched one another.

Eventually, Heather spoke again. "I want to help. When Vanessa stormed out of the meeting after being sacked, she said that I should be ashamed of myself...and I was – am. I was a coward, I should have stood up for what was right, but I was scared of losing my job too. I want to put things right, even if it means my own job being put on the line. My integrity is worth more to me than that."

Frank smiled with new found respect. "Good for you. Don't worry, no one will know you're helping me."

She placed her palms on the table. "Thanks, though I can't see how I can be of any help, but whatever it is—"

"Actually, you can, and you're best placed."

"How so?"

"By providing a list of all the people that Compute-Soft have on their books who are contracted staff and freelancers. Someone who isn't 'officially' here on the books like me. And then see if you recognise everyone on that list. There might be someone who's being paid by the company that you've never actually met in person."

"That will take some time, there's quite a few freelancers."

"I thought there would be, especially after the speed I was taken on with no questions asked. Do you think you could do it before lunch? I'm meeting with Vanessa and my partner later and if I have your list we can go though it and see if anything jumps off the page."

"Sure, I can do that."

"Also, I've some photographs with me that I'd like you to take a look at. We think the man who pushed Vanessa into the road is working here and we'd like to put some names to faces."

Heather nodded her understanding.

Frank regarded her thoughtfully for a few seconds deciding how best to ask his next question. He decided to just ask cold: "How trustworthy is Nick?"

Heather leaned away and her face took on a very serious countenance. "Very trustworthy. I'd put my life on it that he's got nothing to do with this." She reddened. "I know he's on the level. He can't lie, he's not able to, and Nick and me, we're together, but don't tell anyone because it's forbidden for staff members to have any sort of personal relationship at Compute-Soft, and the age difference makes it even more complicated."

"Oh, right!" Frank was surprised, but mostly hid it. Having a relationship with Nick Parton could never be referred to as 'traditional' by any definition of the word, so Heather was clearly a remarkably understanding person. She was a surprising and many layered human being.

"Did you know that Nick has A.S.?" she asked.

"I did find out about that."

"Wow, you're good! Hardly anyone knows and some have been here for years."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Let's just say that Elaine has a loose mouth."

*****

Joe slouched in his seat, rested his wrist against the steering wheel and dropped his other hand into his girlfriend's lap. She interlocked their fingers and ran her thumb along his index finger. The ticklish feeling was nice so he shared a look with her, treated her to his special smile and a half-wink.

The surrounding buildings had begun to thin out now that they were closer to Compute-Soft premises. Joe's research had taught him that the offices were comparatively newly built and were the first and, as yet, only building to have been successfully erected on the new and upcoming 'Bayport Enterprise Center'. More building work _had_ been scheduled, and construction had even commenced on one, but plans had been temporarily put on hold and work ground to a halt when the building contractor went bust.

Coupled with that, and the fact they were not on the main highway meant that the road they were travelling on was quiet at non-peak commuter times, one step away from a country road. It encouraged auto-pilot driving, which was the state Joe's mind had slipped into as he turned his waning attention back to the road to start humming tunelessly, gazing slack-eyed at the passing scenery.

Vanessa shifted in her seat and let go of his hand to begin fiddling with the car's ancient sound system.

"It's not worth turning on the radio, Van. We're about thirty seconds away."

"Frank is going to be another ten minutes yet and I don't think I can stomach your humming…or as I prefer to call it, 'droning'. I need real music, trust me, you're no singer."

"Babes! You'd be surprised. I can hold a tune if I can be bothered." Joe began humming even louder.

"I'd rather not test the concept! How do you turn this on?" Vanessa desperately began pressing buttons. "Does anything work on this car? You need to buy a decent system…ah! Power switch." She pressed her thumb against it and the radio kicked into life with a Foo Fighter's track – Dave Grohl's barely controlled musical screaming blaring out at them. At the same time, there was a slight jerk to the passenger side, startling Joe enough as to cause the car to slew across to the other side of the highway.

Joe's hand immediately slapped back onto the wheel to straighten up before glancing confused at Vanessa who was in turn frowning down into the foot well, the tips of her fingernails still resting against the console. Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters had also gone silent, but not out of surprise. Joe diverted his toes to the brake with the intention of stopping and opened his mouth to voice his suspicion that a tire had been blown. However, his girlfriend superseded him:

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anyth—"

But then there was another tremendous jolt and Joe's palms were ripped free of the steering column as the world tipped. His girlfriend slammed into him until her restraint tightened to stop her slide, Joe's own belt searing his shoulder. The inside of the car was immediately filled with the terrifying sounds of screeching metal and Vanessa's frightened screams cutting through the howls of the distressed vehicle.

Joe intuitively reached forward again to the wheel, but his fingers failed to get that far as the airbag inflated against his arms, blocking his view of a side-on, fast moving world. The bag then deflated just as quickly and there was a third and final jolt, the hardest so far, and his head came to rest against the ceiling. The vehicle had turned entirely over and was revolving and sliding down the road, sparks shooting as metal ground against asphalt.

Joe gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, knowing there was nothing to be done until the car came to a standstill, hoping that when that happened, they would both still be in one piece. Vanessa was now worryingly silent, so he groped out and grabbed her knee. _"Hang on in there, baby!"_

After some long, heart-stopping seconds everything finally stopped screeching, grinding and groaning – except for the ticking hiss of the engine – and the car came to a slow, juddering halt against the curb.

Joe opened his eyes and looked toward his girlfriend.

Vanessa's arms were limp against the ceiling, but as her airbag had also deployed, it did not appear as if she could have hit her head against anything too hard. Joe assumed her apparent comatose condition was just temporary shock, possibly from when she had rammed into him as the car had first tipped over. "Vanessa…Van?" he asked and placed his fingers against her wrist, just to assure himself that there was a pulse…there was. "Vanessa…babe?" he asked again and laid his hand against her neck.

Her face sluggishly turned his way. She swallowed and inhaled noisily. "What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I think so…I think I smell gasoline though…do you smell gas?"

Joe swore and went straight for her seatbelt clip, his own belt resisting his movement. "We've got to get out!"

Vanessa started squirming and groping, terror rising.

"Babe, don't panic, we'll get out," he assured her as he finally released her belt and then turned his attention to his own restraint. It was disorientating being upside down, he could not find the catch at first, but his fingers eventually curled around it and pressed. The pressure went from his chest and waist and he dropped down against the roof onto his spine with his legs still partially in the foot well. He was glad he had worn a leather jacket as he dropped down onto window glass – he had not even noticed or felt it flying around; it was probably in his hair.

A dark shape materialised at his side outside the car and a man's knees appeared, followed by a beckoning hand. "C'mon," he said.

"Get my girlfriend out first."

"Someone's already there, c'mon!" the man repeated.

Joe looked quickly across and saw that the man had not lied to make him cooperate, a pair of legs _were _there. He turned back to the man who had offered his hand, but he was standing again and holding a muted conversation across the top of the car with the other rescuer.

The stranger dipped down again and addressed Vanessa. "Miss, avert ya eyes," he requested of Vanessa respectfully, "Someone is goin' to kick in your window to free you." Then he grabbed tightly onto Joe's arm and started levering. The stranger was surprisingly strong and Joe felt himself sliding, losing sight for the moment of what was happening with his girlfriend, but hearing the sound of breaking glass. Once his upper body was out the car, he found his ankle had become tangled in the seatbelt so he kicked and jerked until he was free and then scrambled entirely away.

Joe stood but was swooning almost immediately, his sight glazing over, evidently having been knocked around more severely than he had appreciated. His guardian angel became Joe's eyes and he felt himself being supported and guided blankly away from his wrecked car.

Then Joe was lost for a few seconds…or a few tens of seconds. All he knew was that he was aware of a beautiful blue sky and soft fluffy drifting clouds. He was on his back, on a grass verge staring up into the sky alone…why was he alone? _"Oh God, Vanessa!" _He sat bolt upright and scrambled to his feet to look keenly over his upturned, steaming car. She was on the opposite grass verge, being comforted by, presumably, the man who had pulled her from the wreckage. Joe now knew that he had only been lying on the grass verge for a matter of seconds. "Vanessa!" he shouted and waved.

Vanessa looked over the guy's shoulder and smiled and her rescuer turned around.

"Dude! Where did you come from?"

It was Frank. "I saw what was happening through the office window – I think I betrayed my cover big time though! Are you injured, bro?"

"Nah. Stay there, I'm coming over." Joe began to slowly circumvent the vehicle, giving it a wide berth, not wishing to get too close to his totalled ride.

Frank and Vanessa moved slightly further away too, also seemingly respectful of the danger it still could pose.

Joe's visual inspection showed that the wheel arch on the passenger front side showed signs of having been blown out, the tire shredded. Joe suspected from the way the car had jumped when Vanessa had pressed the power switch to the radio that the vehicle had been rigged to explode, but the first charge had failed to activate successfully or with any clout, making the second incendiary device only powerful enough as to flip the car and stun Vanessa as she was the closest person to the second blast. It was probably the only reason why he was now looking back at the car, and the only reason Vanessa still had her shapely legs.

Joe so loved amateur bomb makers, but loved her legs a whole lot more!

Frank shouted a warning at a group of rubber-neckers who had gathered and made stay back gestures. Sirens could now be heard approaching from the distance, and a few cars were starting to build up into a traffic jam – the drivers having sensibly chosen to keep their distance.

Now at the front of the car and in the middle of the road, Joe was distracted by a pretty white sparkle that blinked at him from beneath a gap in the crinkled and mangled hood – something was glimmering…something was burning…something was about to ignite the build up of gas vapour!

Joe looked back up at his brother and girlfriend to estimate the distance they were from the vehicle and his heart constricted and turned ice-cold…they were too close, way too close!

Frank must have had the same thought himself, as he'd started to spin towards Vanessa, his face opening up in horror.

In his mind, Joe was now running, hurdling the car, tackling and taking them down, covering them with his body, protecting them. In reality he barely got as far as to take half a step and shout out a hollered, "FRANK—" in warning before the whole structure exploded with devastating force.

Joe was snatched up and thrown tumbling by the rippling power surge, finding himself in free fall for a few seconds before coming to ground with a breath stealing thud on his side which ended in a scorching slide onto his front. Sections of car dropped to earth around him, falling from the sky and forcing Joe to cover his head as best his could until the deluge and noise stopped and reduced to an eerie distant echoing rumble. It as a miracle he wasn't struck.

Joe attempted to get up, but his body would not cooperate, the one side of his body useless and non-reactive, a dead weight. Something was broken or dislocated, starting to dully ache and burn.

"No, please no…please God no…"

He needed to see what had happened to Frank and Vanessa, but he was like an upturned tortoise as he desperately struggled to role over. He eventually managed to tip himself onto his back and leaned up onto his right elbow to see flames shooting into the air from the now totally destroyed car. He squinted to see through the heat haze and smoke toward where his brother and girl had once been standing, but they had been substituted with empty air.

"No…no…not again…"

A voice in his head was screaming through the horror that this should not, could not be happening, that twice in a lifetime events of this kind just were not possible..."_do not judge a book by its cover…what you can't see doesn't equal inevitability."_

"Not possible…not possible…"

But he had seen it happen with his own eyes, experienced the raw power of that explosion. If he had been thrown hard enough as to not be able to get back up, then what had it done to those who had been positioned the closest of all?

"I can't…Frank I wish…oh God! Van?"

Joe's reserve and fight abandoned him to desolation and defeat. His throat began to burn and tighten as acid tears pricked and stung the back of his eyes.

He began the grieving process.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Fenton and Con had taken over from Joe and Vanessa after they had left to liaise with Frank. So they were now sitting at their desks with ear pieces in, sharing the occasional knowing look, but entirely silent.

Con was listening to what was happening in Lawrence Bale's office. A boring meeting was in progress with up an estimated five people physically in his office, and even a couple on 'conference call' – which Con found mildly amusing, given the irony of what _he_ was doing. It was non-eventful and mind numbing, so he started practicing word processing, fiddling with the formatting toolbar functions.

In stark contrast, Fenton was snooping on his son having a fascinating conversation with Heather, going through a list of employees. Frank had explained Joe's theory that the company was being used for money laundering purposes and was now enquiring of Heather how many of those staff on the list were being paid cash-in-hand as he was, rather than as self-employed consultants. She gave him a name, the name of someone she had never met, but who was being paid. In fact, she was bemused as to what function this mystery person performed at Compute-soft.

Suddenly, in the background, there was a muted, unidentifiable noise. Fenton assumed it was simply static or interference until Heather asked: _"Did you hear that?"_

_"Yeah I did,"_ Frank said. _"Sounded like a car accident."_

There followed the sound of scraping chairs being moved and shuffled footsteps.

Fenton and Con looked at one another. "Are you getting this?" Fenton asked, pointing to his earpiece.

"Some sort of noise from outside?"

"Frank's just said he thinks it's a car accident."

"That's sounds way more interesting than Bale's meeting. What sub-channel are you on?"

"Four."

Con caught up his handset, diverted his unit to channel 4 and forgot about his word processing practice.

If Fenton understood correctly from Heather's excited and yet horrified voice, it seemed the car was now entirely on its roof. Then she said: _"Where you going, Ben...Frank?"_

"_Heather, stay here, no matter what happens stay out of it. Don't draw attention to yourself. I'm going to help Joe and Vanessa."_

"It's the kids!" Fenton shouted. Not needing to hear anything more, he threw down his earpiece and headed for the door at speed, not looking back, and not inviting Con along – but knowing that his friend would be there all the same.

Fenton was down the stairs, out of the front door and pulling his car keys from his pocket by the time Con caught him by the elbow and yanked him up short. "Leave it."

"I need to get to my kids!" Fenton argued and pulled his arm clear. _"What's Con doing?" _

"A bike'll be a hell of a lot quicker," Con argued and held up Frank's keys, which he had evidently grabbed on his way out.

Finally, Fenton focussed and understood Con's intention – they could pick their way through traffic a lot easier on a motorcycle than in a car. Fenton hated bikes ordinarily, but his fear for his children's welfare far outweighed any feelings of apprehension for riding pillion with Con Riley. He nodded his ascent. "Let's do it."

Con quickly unlocked the heavy security chain to un-snake it from the bike's wheel spokes and frame. Then he swung his leg over onto the seat and shoved Frank's key into the ignition before leaning to kick the stand up. "Saddle up," he ordered and Fenton immediately sprang onto the back. Con pulled the throttle towards himself, pressed the red button and the engine powered into life. "Hold on!" he bellowed above the noise, toe tapped the bike into first gear and roared through the parking lot and out into open traffic.

Such had been their urgency that neither man had bothered with protective headgear. Fenton did have a fleeting realisation a few seconds later, but considered it was of little matter in the grand scheme of things as the office block was only a few minutes drive away.

Leaning into the wind, Con took the bike straight down the middle of the first section of highway, cutting through the traffic like a warm knife through butter. He was making good speed up until they began to approach the intersection where they started to become snarled up. Casting good driving etiquette aside, Con's solution was to weave madly through other vehicles and take to the sidewalk when left with no alternative, bullying his way forward. Eventually he nosed the bike out in front and torpedoed across the four lanes of open road just before the lights changed to red. Once through, Fenton felt Con grab his forearm solidly as he skidded a heart dropping turn to take the bike down behind a variety of small independent stores. A lesser known rat-run shortcut.

Finally, Con took them along behind a commercial laundry which was billowing steam through pipe work rudely into the atmosphere, and emerged out the other side at the bottom of the highway where the office block was situated – just as Joe's car detonated.

The shock wave was such that it felt to Fenton like something struck the bike side-on, sending it into tight turn and circling them into a disorientating spin. The tires threw up eye watering, dense black smoke as the wheels protested at being sent in a direction they were not designed for and the bike screamed in protest. The engine finally shorted out and Fenton and Con's legs smacked down to prevent the bike from leaving its wheels to pitch them both onto the hard ground. It was nothing short of miraculous that it didn't as they found themselves tipped at an almost impossible angle to the asphalt.

Seconds later they collected themselves and Fenton was looking back to witness flames shooting up into the sky from the ruined car. Chunks of twisted and scorched metal had rain down around his younger son who was on the ground and desperately trying to get up. Eventually Joe flopped over onto his back and propped himself up to look towards his car's remains where he stared motionless and muttering for a little while before lying down and covering his eyes with his palm.

Fenton next looked for Frank and Vanessa, but no matter how much his eyes roved the area he could not pick them out. There was a shocked knot of people who had retreated back towards Compute-Soft's building, all compacted into a tight defensive huddle, so Fenton hoped his charges were both back there with them. But if that was the case, why was Frank not coming for his brother and where was Vanessa's tall, stand-out-like-a-sore-thumb, blonde form?

All these observations had happened as he dismounted the bike to sprint for Joe. He reached him and went down on one knee. "Joe?"

Joe dropped his palm and looked up at Fenton through hollow, blood shot eyes, his hand snaking forward to latch and grip tightly onto his father, his breath catching and bubbling in his throat. Joe's expression, the blankness of it, his paleness, encased Fenton's heart in an icy belted grip and he knew instantly that something was very wrong, that this was not just pain from shoulder and leg injuries.

"Where's your brother?" Fenton asked steadily, "and Vanessa?"

Joe attempted an answer, but all he could force was a painful sounding grunt. He was clearly so shocked that his vocal cords had closed up. He bared his teeth and shook his head.

Fenton began to rub at Joe's neck and shoulder to loosen things up. "Son, take a deep breath and tell me where Frank is."

Joe swallowed hard and let go of his father's hand to point towards the car. He gritted his teeth and breathed heavily before finally forcing out the word: "Gone." He then transferred his grip to his father's shoulder and started struggling again, uploading strength through their physical contact. "Help me up, I need to find them."

Fenton was aware that Con was now standing at his side having heard their brief exchange. Fenton glanced up to find his partner was staring towards where Joe had been indicating before scanning and transferring his piercing gaze to the throng of shocked onlookers. "Con, stay here, with Joe."

"No!" Joe pleaded loudly.

"You're staying put," Fenton ordered his son and attempted to pry him loose.

However, before Fenton could break his son's hold, Con was moving with his hand over his heart. "I know where the kids are, the bystanders are looking at them. I'll go - there are some things a father should never see."

"Con, I—" Fenton started to say.

"—no, it's okay." Con finished softly and jogged away with a grimace.

Fenton was now in a dilemma. Leaving Joe alone should be out of the question, but the compulsion to go and seek out Frank and Vanessa was strong, too strong to fight. He knew that he would never be able to pry Joe's hold lose, even though he was only being gripped by a single hand. He looked up and saw emergency vehicles were now making their way down the road towards them and then looked down into his son's face. Fenton recognised the same level of uncontrollable determination in Joe's face, which must have been registering on his own and came to a decision that laughed in the face of good sense. "Dammit! C'mon, we're going to find them."

He shuffled round and eased Joe up into a sitting position and then, with one arm about his son's waist, hauled him up onto his feet. Once erect, Joe was pretty much fully mobile again and did not need to lean very much on his father at all. "I'm okay," then he grimaced and pulled his injured arm across his chest and held it steady, illuminating his own lie.

Although Fenton felt that speed was of the essence, Joe was not moving quickly and was favouring his left leg upon which he must have landed heavily. So Fenton kept his arm about his son and, rather than rush on ahead, kept pace as they both made their way slowly towards the twisted vehicle, looking for Con who was no longer in sight.

Although the car was still burning, the flames had died right down. Through the heat haze, they could now see how the grass slid away just after the sidewalk into a ditch which would have hidden anyone who fell down there – even just a dip of a few inches would have caused the same optical illusion. It was a trench that had probably been left by the builders after all labour had ceased, the beginnings of foundation work. The ditch should have had safety barriers around it, but for some reason the contractor had either not bothered when they'd gone bust, or the barriers had later been moved for some unknown reason.

Suddenly, Con reared up into view, only his head and shoulders showing at that point – the ditch was far deeper than Fenton had anticipated. His friend boosted himself back up onto the side of the road and then dipped to offer his hands downwards, the angle of his body obscuring Fenton's view. However, the older Hardy thought he glimpsed blonde hair as Con's assuredly strong arms began to help someone up. It was only when Con shambled sideways to pull the figure the rest of the way out that Fenton knew he was not seeing things and it _was_ Vanessa Bender.

Joe tensed and gave off a gasp and spluttered, "What…how? I don't believe it!" he blinked in his amazement and shouted. "Vanessa!"

She tensed herself and, seeing Joe past Con's shoulder, began to make her way across to them until she was at a run. As soon as he was within grabbing distance, her arms were out and she was flinging herself at him. "Joe! I was frightened you were dead." Her eyes were as red as Joe's, tears having streaked her ash-blackened cheeks.

Joe cared little about the pain she must have been causing him, he was too busy covering her face in kisses and half laughing, half crying in relief. "Me? Dead? Never, babes…made from iron." Then he calmed again as the realisation that Frank was not with her sank in. "Van…where's Frank? Where's my bro?"

"Honey, what about Frank?" Fenton interrupted, equally as forcefully.

Vanessa pointed and Fenton turned to see Frank also being helped up out of the pit. "I'm sorry if we worried you all but we didn't want to risk getting out, we didn't know if the car would go up again, we were so close to it. Plus…" She angled a chin towards the crowd still milling outside the Compute-Soft building, "…none of those damn cowards would help us, they all just stood there gawking, too scared to lift a finger!" She had almost as good as shouted the last sentence, throwing the appalling indictment over at the throng. A silence descended for a beat and several members of the crowd immediately went into the building.

Fenton caught Joe's eye and grinned, squeezing his middle in relief. Joe sagged against him, the nervous energy that had kept him going now escaping.

Vanessa was continuing, her anger, relief and adrenalin mixing into babble soup: "Frank was thrown against the opposite bank and came down really hard on his back, it's lucky he didn't break his neck, but he's okay. Mr H, you should be proud, Frank pushed me just before the car went up, so I wasn't caught up in the blast at all. The area we fell into actually protected us; everything just flew over our heads," she demonstrated by heaving her hand into a huge arc. "We were too close, but in the end, it was better than standing further away."

Fenton turned to Joe unable to keep him upright any longer. "Stay here, and I mean it this time. If you take a tumble, you'll do yourself more damage." He guided his youngest into a seated position.

"Bro?" asked Frank, finally reaching them and ducking gingerly under Fenton's arm to crouch next to his brother. He sat back heavily into the asphalt and one hand moved to knead busily at small of his back. Unluckily for Joe, the remaining palm came out to grip tightly onto his shoulder. The show of affection was therefore accompanied with a loud yelp of pain and Frank's guilty hand being snatched away. "Aw crap, you've hurt your shoulder. Sorry, sorry!"

Fenton gave his oldest son's upper arm a squeeze and received an answering hand tap and a quick upturned grin.

Joe forced a smile, "We're all in one piece, that's the main thing. Thanks for pushing Van clear." Drifting into a heavy silence, a blanket was dropped down about Joe's shoulders and he allowed paramedics to start working on him.

*****

Two hours later and everyone was still at the emergency room, waiting on Joe. Fenton had been called up the corridor to Joe's cubicle about a half hour before. No one knew for sure why, but the assumption was that it was for his father to offer moral support as they manipulated his arm back into the socket.

Despite all the accidents, falls and games of football the brother's had shared, this was the first dislocation of a main limb for Joe. Many fingers, but nothing bigger than that. So for Joe, this was uncharted waters and perhaps not something he was willing to face alone.

Frank got up again and started moving slowly up and down the waiting room.

"You okay, Buddy?" Con asked.

"More comfortable when I'm up. I know the doc said my back is just bruised, but it sure hurts!"

"Try a slipped disc. Had one of those once, thought I'd never be able to straighten up again."

"I'll take your word for it." Frank did a full circuit of the waiting room, circling Con's and Vanessa's chairs until eventually he was in front of them again. "How you holding up, Van?"

"More angry than anything else. How dare someone try to blow us up!"

Con smiled. It was just like Vanessa to fight fright with anger, she never let anything intimidate her. Very few girls would cope with having a boyfriend who got into the scrapes Joe did, but this girl was every bit as belligerent as 'The Blond One'. She was good for him.

"_How dare they indeed!"_ agreed a growling voice in the doorway. It was Fenton with a face like thunder. Usually warm brown eyes steely marred with fury, his face deeply lined into a livid frown, his fingers curling in and out of a fist formation. He was radiating anger.

"Fen?" Con asked.

"You might as well all go home, Joe isn't going anywhere until tomorrow. I'm going back to Compute-Soft. Lawrence Bale and I are going to have a…little chat." Fenton scowled darkly and headed for the main doors.

"Mr H, has something happened?" Vanessa asked of his retreating back.

Frank was silent, disquiet and confused.

"Fen!" Con said again forcefully and rose to his feet. He followed quickly after his partner, walking half backwards so he could address Frank. "Do you think you can get home without me and your dad if we don't come back?"

"Mom's on her way, she can take us. Go, go – stop him doing something hot headed." Frank and Vanessa shared a concerned look.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Con found Fenton unsuccessfully trying to flag down a cab just outside of the Hospital lot. He was probably not having much luck because he had forgotten about his sunglasses and was cursing like a madman at every car that failed to stop. "Fen, calm down man!"

Not acknowledging his presence, Fenton just carried on waving his fist at yellow cars. Eventually Con took the decision to get physical. He took his friend by the shoulder and yanked him around. "Fen!"

"Don't try and stop me, Con!"

"Unlikely. I'm coming with you, but you gotta get a grip first. If you walk into Compute-Soft like this, all that's likely to happen is that Bale will clam up –that's if you find anyone there at all given that it's nearly six now."

Fenton jerked a thumb back towards the hospital. "I just left my boy broken in there!"

"Yeah I know, I saw his shoulder."

"I wasn't talking about his injuries. He's just had to watch Frank and Vanessa disappear in a car explosion, the exact same thing that happened to Iola Morton, but ten times worse. He just hit the wall, and I didn't see it comin', and I should have!"

"Hey," Con coaxed gently and rested a hand against his shoulder.

Fenton shrugged him off. "Don't, Con, I don't deserve sympathy. I've been so wrapped around Frank that I didn't consider how Joe was coping these last few months...if he was coping."

"Is that why the nurse came to get you?"

"They were going to sedate him, but I got him to calm down. They're keeping him in overnight under observation."

"We thought you'd gone to support him with having his shoulder put back in."

Fenton choked out a hard laugh. "What? You think Joe Hardy would need to hold his daddy's hand for that? Come now, the boy's made of steel, he's a human tank."

"Maybe not...as it turns out."

That remark made Fenton stop and think although the fire didn't leave his eyes. His head almost imperceptibly nodded. "I need to go back, make sure Frank and Vanessa get home safely."

"Just stop a while Fenton, get off that roller coaster ride you're on. Laura is on her way and she'll take care of things. Besides which, they're not children anymore, they can look after themselves. Today proved that."

Fenton stared down at his feet and breathed deeply. Then he remembered about his sunglasses and unhooked them from his top pocket to put them on. He turned to look into the road.

You okay?" Con asked.

Fenton offer no answer. Instead he turned and looked up Main Street. "You coming?"

"Where?"

Not answering again, Fenton waited for a break in the traffic and quickly jaywalked to the other side of the road. Clearly neither of them was going home any time soon, and from the direction Fenton was heading, Con was not going to be led to Compute-Soft either.

Con caught up and kept pace as he was drawn further into town. "Flash, are you going to let me in on wherever it is we're going?…Ah." Realisation had dawned.

Fenton had been walking him to the nearest bar. He pushed through the heavy wooden door and entered, making quick time across the polished floorboards, an obvious path to the liquor having been hewn by craftily positioned tables.

Con was barely through before the door swung shut again, the taste and smell of warm alcohol immediately hitting the back of his throat and raucous laughter attacked his eardrums. Approaching the counter he witnessed Fenton raise a finger to one of the young bar staff. "Whisky," he snapped and rummaged in his pocket for his wallet. He extracted a fifty-dollar bill and threw it down, only then did he slide onto a barstool.

"Ice?"

"Nope, as God intended," Fenton said. "And the same for my friend."

"I'll have a water – I'm driving," Con corrected, perching on a stool himself. "I need to pick up my car at some point," he offered by way of explanation for his abstinence.

The bartender went to start throwing the glass and bottle about, starting by flicking the tumbler behind his back and catching it as it sailed over his shoulder.

Fenton was less than impressed. "Knock it off, Tom Cruise. If I want to see a show, I'll spend my fifty bucks at the movies." He tapped the wooden bar surface. "Just the drink please."

So the shot glass was dropped down and golden liquid dispensed.

Con watched disquietly as Fenton took it back in one slug. "Fen—"

Fenton turned on him with his teeth bared and slammed the glass back down. "Con, after what's happened these last few months...let's just say I need this. If you want me to get off that roller coaster ride, this is how I'm going to do it." He addressed the bartender again, flicking the glass at him. "Fill 'er up!"

The barman looked to Con who raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the bottle. "Pour him another. I'll keep an eye on him. Try and drink this one slower, Flash."

Fenton ignored his missive and threw it down his throat just as quickly. This time, it made him cough and swipe at his mouth. When the choking stopped, all the fight and anger had gone, leaving an enveloping bleakness.

The barman took the bottle away, but hovered for further instructions.

"I'll have a pitcher of beer," Fenton muttered and then addressed Con again. "I've never had a taste for it, but it's the boys' poison of choice. Do you know I've never taken my boys to a bar? It's supposed to be one of those 'coming of age' things that I never got around to. Their coming of age is _long _gone." His forearm dropped down despondently onto the counter top.

"You can still do that stuff. You did a fine job with the boys."

"Laura did a fine job. I undermined her efforts by allowing the boys to run wild."

"Hardly."

Fenton snorted.

"Joe'll be okay. He's just letting off steam. Mark my words, the kid'll be bouncing around tomorrow. He's had a shock today, a good night's sleep'll set him straight."

Fenton snorted again. "Con, I appreciate what you're doing, but that's condescending wishful thinking."

Con took a sip of his water and tried not to show that Fenton's words had stung. He knew it was the whisky talking and the last thing Fenton needed right at that moment was a telling off.

Fenton must have sensed something though because he grimaced. "I'm sorry. You don't merit being spoken to like that."

"Buddy, it's okay."

"No it's not, it's crap. You've been more than supportive." he gazed despondently at the jug of beer as it was dropped down in front of them along with a tall glass.

Con caught the eye of a girl who was sitting on the other side of the bar from them. She had been watching Fenton, but when she realised Con had noticed, turned away quickly and rejoined her friends' conversation instead. As usual, Fenton had failed to notice the interest he'd drawn from the fairer sex.

Con forgot about the woman and shuffled his stool closer to his friend, mirrored his pose and positioned his head closer. In a lowered voice he said, "Well, if it's a 'feeling-sorry-for-yourself-session' you're after, and a competition in failed parenting…what about the pseudo-parent who abandoned a youngster to a miserable existence for nearly 20 years?"

"Are you talking about you and James?"

"Of course I'm talking about James. I left it up to my boy to find me and then when he did he went undercover and changed his name. What does that say about me?

"It says more about your family than it does you. Ask yourself why he's not changed it back…it's not you he's hiding from. And I bet you had no choice _but_ to leave."

"Not the proudest moment of my life. You see? Your parenting wasn't half bad, so let up on yourself."

"Huh."

They were both now gazing into the amber liquid.

"I changed my mind." Con suddenly decided. Straightening in his seat, he shouted across to the bartender, "hey kid, another glass." As soon as it was set down, he lifted the pitcher, poured a tumbler for each of them and then slid Fenton's along the bar 'Wild West' style.

Fenton caught it and raised it high. "Here's to crummy parenting and pseudo-parenting…"

Con tapped his glass against his friend's. "…or 'how to stuff up your kids' lives in two easy steps'. The only way is up, my friend."

* * *

Con climbed the stairs to the office, and started hunting his pockets for his key. Catching sight of his watch, it occurred to him that as it was late into the morning, there was a slim chance the door would be open. Upon testing his theory, he did find the room unlocked. He opened up and entered, curious as to who was inside...it was the last team member he was expecting to see. "Kiddo! When did you get out?"

"This morning." It was Joe leaning up against his desk with one arm in a sling, the other holding his cell phone. He was wearing yesterday's scraped-up clothes.

"Should you even be here?"

"Probably not."

"How's the arm?"

"Aching. Came to see Frank, thought he'd be here. I guess the dude's at home. I was just about to text him."

Con had been watching Joe's pale face carefully, looking for signs of the distress that Fenton had described but seeing no evidence of it. Perhaps Con's theory had been correct and it _had_ just been the shock of it. "Frank called me earlier. He's picking up his car from Compute-Soft, and—"

"—On his own?!" Joe blurted out. "He shouldn't be out there alone!"

Ah, there is was, automatic anxiety for his brother's welfare_._ "He's meeting Fenton. They're going to interview Lawrence Bale together, hit him with the evidence, see if they can get him to open up, confess even. The sooner we can get him to do that, the better."

"But what about Frank's theory that the bug on Van's bag wasn't planted by Bale?"

Con frowned, "What are you talking about?"

Joe sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't _know_ what I'm talking about, Frank never had the chance to explain, just told me to sweep everywhere for wires." His mouth kinked up, "He was going to talk me through his theory yesterday over lunch, but events got in the way. Hard to hold a conversation when you're either sliding on your head or flying gracefully through the air."

That was one thing Con had lately learned about Joe Hardy. He hid behind humour and used it as a buffer zone when he was feeling stressed. Con had the almost uncontrollable urge to put his arm around the younger man. "Sweeping for wires...? Okay, now I'm confused. Has Frank turned into James Bond?"

Joe sighed again. "There are some similarities, I'll admit. Never mind, I'm sure the dude knows what he's doing."

Con shrugged off his jacket. "You want a drink? Cause I need one now to clear the cobwebs. You Hardys are the most confusing group of men I ever worked with…and I'm including James in that."

"A coffee would be great. That hospital stuff is pure mud in a cup."

Con went to flick the switch on the kettle and went about selecting two mugs that were not too chipped and were not Frank's. "Where's Vanessa?"

"She's with her mom, I wouldn't let her come with me today, not after what happened yesterday. Safer at home. I was hoping to catch up with Frank, get up to speed on everything he found out."

"You okay buddy? You look like you could do with a vacation."

"Like that's gonna happen any time soon."

Con's cell phone started to ring so he fished it from his top pocket and keyed the answer button. "Hello."

"_Con, it's Fenton."_

Con glanced at Joe. "How goes it, Fen? Your youngest is here."

"_Joe?"_

"How many children have you got?"

Fenton didn't answer, his slow breathing the only indication that he was still there. But eventually: _"Where are you?"_

"In the office."

"_Why's Joe there?"_

Joe came forward, moving stiffly with a small grimace, clearly feeling the effects of having been flung onto asphalt from a great height. "Tell Dad to put Frank on."

"Fenton, Joe wants to talk to Frank."

"_Crap—" _There was another long and ominous pause from the other end – as if receiving the word _'Crap'_ to a mundane request was bad enough. But eventually again: "_Frank isn't here. He hasn't shown up yet. I've been waiting for over thirty minutes now. I'm going to ask you to lie to Joe for me and move this conversation to somewhere private. I'll make it up to you."_

Con turned away from Joe and opened up the overhead cupboard to pull down the coffee. "How?" He wasn't sure if he meant how he should lie, or how Fenton could 'make it up' to him because that would be a challenge in itself. This was not an assignment he wanted without some sort of personal gain.

"I don't know. Just do it."

"Thanks Fen." Con closed his eyes not quite with a groan. When he opened them again, he turned to Joe and said light-heartedly, "Frank went to his car to get those photographs. Fenton said he'll get him to phone you."

"_Well done, Con."_

If it had been Fenton or Frank lying, Joe would have picked up on it almost immediately, but this was Con Riley whom Joe had only worked closely with for a matter of a few short months. So he seemed to accept the explanation without question and joined him at the counter to start a ungainly one-arm dance with the jar of coffee.

Con continued with his charade into the phone, "Hang fire a moment, Flash, I can't understand you." With his chin holding the handset in place, he took the jar back from Joe and unscrewed the lid. "I gotta go outside, my phone's reception is terrible. I can't make out what your dad is saying. Will you be okay to finish the drinks?"

"Dude, if you hear a scream, you'll know I wasn't and I spilled boiling water down myself."

Con laughed and strolled from the office, only picking up speed when the door had swung shut. He tripped to the bottom of the stairs where he was out of earshot and hunkered down onto the bottom treads. "Talk to me Fenton," he hissed, "what do you mean Frank isn't there? I spoke to him earlier and he was as keen as you to see an end to this, was leaving to meet you. Did you try his cell?"

"_That was the first thing I did before I phoned his apartment. Can't get an answer from either. His voice mail kicked in at home and he's not answering his cell phone. He seems to have disappeared without a trace!"_


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Con frowned his concern for the missing older Hardy brother as he continued his conversation with Fenton by cell phone. "Chances are he left his cell phone in his apartment or maybe at Compute-Soft...oh...no, scratch that, he didn't leave it at Compute-Soft, I remember him using it yesterday to phone Laura. Is his car still there?"

_"I'm looking at it right now."_

"Is it locked?"

_"Crook locked, alarmed, and the hood is cold."_

"What about Bale?"

"_Saw a man who looked like him going into the offices earlier, but obviously as I've not seen him in the flesh I can't be entirely sure," _Fenton's tone dropped to a growling whisper, _"take my word for it, Con, Frank hasn't been here, I've covered all the bases."_

Con ignored his friend's obvious irritation at having to play twenty questions. "Frank definitely said he'd meet you thirty minutes ago?"

"_Forty five, I was late."_

"Did you got into Compute-Soft to ask for him? Perhaps Frank's already in there seems you were late."

_"I didn't have to. Heather Jones saw me looking at Frank's car and came out to return his stuff. She confirmed he's not in there and besides, he was under strict instructions not to go in alone. As I said, I covered all the bases, so can we get practical?"_

"Hey, don't get pissed with me, I'm just getting an angle on things, even the most experienced PI can miss stuff."

"_This one didn't."_

Con thought hard for a while. If it had been Joe who had been ordered not to go in alone, then Con would have put money on him being in the building glory hunting...even if Ms Jones had not seen him. But Frank? He always respected Fenton's orders, would have appreciated the logic of hanging back to play the safety-in-numbers game. Then something occurred to him. "Hasn't Frank got a GPS locator on his cell?"

"_Of course! I forgot about that..."_

Con bit down hard onto his tongue, resisting the urge to say, _"I told you so."_ It would not do any good. Fenton's snappishness was his way of venting fear. Better that than reaching his flashpoint and going off the deep end.

"_...but we can't track him on it, only Frank's software provider can do that and I can't remember who that is. The police can though, in an emergency."_

"This is how we'll play it. You get onto James and I'll dump Joe. I'll make an excuse to take him over to Andrea's place to keep his eye on the women. To tell you the truth, I think he'll be relieved for the excuse to get some R&R. I'll meet you afterwards, the place dependent upon what James finds out, agreed?"

_"Agreed."_

"Don't do anything until I get to you."

_"Wouldn't dream of it."_

* * *

Con swung his car down into the basement parking garage of Frank's apartment block and spotted Fenton hovering anxiously by the elevator. Fenton immediately began moving swiftly towards the vehicle so that as soon as Con parked, he was having his door pulled open.

"What did James say?" Con asked, getting immediately down to business.

"He said that the closest the cell's location can be pinpointed is somewhere around the elevator, in the parking lot, but I've looked all over and can't find it."

"In the elevator itself?" Con swallowed and leaned away as Fenton's eyebrows dropped. He looked like he was tempted to sock him in the mouth. Con sidestepped his partner and headed for the elevator. He wanted to voice his own theory as to what was going on, but didn't consider it the right time with his friend being so tightly wound. He hit the elevator call button.

"Do you think I didn't already look?" Fenton challenged, stepping around in front of him again.

"Course not, buddy, I just—" Con's brain swirled desperately for a change of direction and he even – for one mad, insane moment – considered giving his friend a hug, his hands rising up unconsciously. But before proceedings got out of hand, Con reeled himself back in and called a halt. _"S_ince _when did we start hugging…what is Andrea Bender doing to me?" _Diverting his hands to slapping his hips Con asked, "Did you dial the phone again to see if you can hear it ringing?"

Fenton sighed heavily at receiving yet another obvious suggestion and began playing with his cell. He held it up for Con to see that it had connected to Frank's phone and was ringing.

Con listened hard for Frank's signature 'Mission Impossible' ringtone, but the air was silent except for the approaching elevator car. "Does he ever have it on vibrate?"

"Hardly ever. Frank thinks it's perverse to carry a vibrating device in the front of your pants."

They eyeballed one another realising that if it wasn't for their worry for Frank's welfare, that statement, said in all innocence, would have had them both doubled over.

The elevator doors started to slide open.

Con cleared his throat. "Let's go up to the apartment and have a look there. Perhaps the phone's software is on the fritz? Technology isn't infallible, no matter what Frank thinks."

"Actually, from what I understand, with satellite technology, it's pretty much—" Fenton stopped talking and they eyeballed each other for an entirely different reason this time – they could hear _'Mission Impossible'_. It was faint, but it was definitely there, and coming from the direction of the elevator's interior.

"Okay, you couldn't have looked that hard for it, Fen."

"You find it then, hotshot!"

A quick glance around the contours of the small space suggested Fenton was correct that the phone was not there, but undeterred, Con stepped inside and checked the handrail to see if it had gotten wedged, but there was no sign. The cell phone simply was not there...but it was still playing!

Con turned to Fenton who was bracing his arm against the door to stop it from closing and raised his own hands in confused surrender. "Ghost phone?" Then it hit them both at once and they looked down at the gap below the door. "Damn!"

They both dropped to their haunches and peered down through the tiny slit, Fenton raising his glasses. It was pitch black down there, but they could see the flashing of a screen light. "Frank?...FRANK?...You down there son?"

"_Can I be of assistance?"_ asked a voice.

They both started and jerked their heads up to find a security guard looming over them. It was the same man who had helped them previously when Frank's car had been boosted and had resulted in Fenton, Con and Nancy Drew being commandeered into investigating a car stealing racket. A situation that had eventually involved both brothers and led to Frank leaving for Seattle for his treatment.

"It's Mr Hardy behind those sunglasses, isn't it?" the security guard asked, "and Mr Riley?"

Con raised himself out of his crouch and offered out his hand. "Hello Stan."

Stan grinned and they shook hands. "Are you looking for Frank?"

Fenton rose to join them. "Yes we are. How big is the area below this elevator? We can hear his cell ringing."

"There's a head height inspection pit beneath so that mechanics can carry out maintenance work, but if you're thinking Frank is down there, you're mistaken. The metal doors to the area are bolted and padlocked shut, no one can gain access. Besides which, Frank's not home, his car hasn't come back yet."

"We know where his convertible is...this time." Con assured him dryly.

Fenton brought the conversation back to Frank's wayward phone. "A slim phone could have slipped through the gap though, if it was dropped?"

"Sure Mr Hardy. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened either."

"Can you take us down there so we can get it?"

Stan dropped his chin in agreement and gestured for them to follow him. He led them to the stairwell and down to the lower basement level. They were met by a wooden door with a 'Staff Only' notice attached. Stan unhooked a large set of keys and took a few seconds selecting the correct one before opening up and ushering them though.

Fenton pushed his glasses up past his forehead and rested them on top of his head. It was much darker in that room than out in the corridor.

The space smelled oily and musty and the ceiling was cobwebbed. It was being used for the storage of maintenance equipment such as an industrial vacuum cleaner and other cleaning materials, as well as several large tool boxes and a dusty, out of use, photocopier. Bizarrely, stood on top was a stuffed squirrel dressed in a tuxedo which had been posed holding a small billiards cue – why it was there was anyone's guess. Despite its unloved appearance, the room was quite ordered with no implication that any sort of scuffle or struggle had gone on, nothing to suggest that Frank had been forced into the room.

They joined Stan at a metal door to the side and waited again as he sorted through his keys and began to unlock the large padlock that was holding it shut. Con placed his hand on Fenton's shoulder supportively. He didn't think Frank was down there, but that wasn't to say Fenton agreed.

Finally, Stan unhitched the padlock and then pulled two squeaky bolts across and with some difficulty, started to pull the door wide. It gave off a loud, ear-splitting squeal as rusting hinges complained. Eventually it was fully open and Con felt Fenton shudder under his hand – a tremor of relief at finding that Frank's cell phone was the only alien thing under there. That, and a woman's sliver earring which had long since tarnished a dirty yellow.

"There it is." Stan moved forward and put his hand out to pick up the phone, but Fenton stopped him with a hand to his elbow.

"Hold on, Stan. Let me get it." Fenton pulled a plastic evidence bag from his inside pocket and entered the claustrophobic space. There was a mechanical clank and a whirring of cogs, and Fenton looked up to watched mesmerised as the elevator began to pull away from him up the shaft to eventually disappear into the distant darkness. Dragging his attention back, he put his hand into the bag like a glove, picked up the handset and then pulled the bag inside out around it.

"What you doing that for?" Stan asked, intrigued.

"Trying not to contaminate any possible evidence. Preserving forensics."

"What for?" Stan asked, but was talked across by Con.

"We'd better head up to Frank's apartment, although I don't think we'll find anything considering he got as far as the elevator before he went AWOL."

Con had purposefully avoided the word 'taken', 'kidnapped' or 'abducted' and instead opted for the softer 'AWOL'. In all probability, Frank had not gone on his own volition, not having made such solid plans to meet his father and then had not returned to try and find his cell. Con was experienced enough to recognise the signs, but to say those words aloud would have made it all the more tangible and he was not sure they were ready to commit themselves to that awful truth yet.

Stan stood aside to let Fenton out of the elevator pit and then closed the door, pulling a face as the hinges shrieked again. "What did his friend say?"

Fenton was lifting is sunglasses again from the top of his head, but what Stan said caused his hand to freeze. "Friend?" he asked pointedly after a pause. "What...'friend'?"

"The one who picked him up this morning. Last night, I saw Frank up to his apartment – he told me what happened and I wanted to make sure he got up there safely, what with his back, he looked about to fall over. Then this morning, Frank was met by a friend. Said he was giving him a lift to pick up his convertible."

Con's mind slammed into reverse. "Is that what you meant when you said Frank wasn't back because his car wasn't there?"

"Exactly."

Con turned and ran back up the stairs to the car parking area, Stan and Fenton following at a slower pace. He hit the elevator button again and listened to his partner's continuing conversation as they came up to meet him.

"Can you remember what Frank's 'friend' looks like?"

Stan thought hard. "Just ordinary. Short brown hair, tall."

"Thin or heavy?"

"Thin. Like Frank."

"So 'athletic' then?"

"A fair word."

Fenton passed Frank's cell to Con and extracted his own phone to select a number. "Only Tony Prito comes close to that description, although why he'd take Frank out of here without as much as a by-your-leave..."

"Isn't Prito a lot shorter than Frank?" Con asked. He was fiddling with Frank's handset through the plastic bag to see if Frank had received any other calls that morning other than from himself or Fenton. There were none. Con wasn't surprised.

Fenton was answering him. "That was in high school. Tony had a late growth spurt, so there's not much difference now." Fenton's expression changed as the call was answered. "Is Tony Prito available?…Fenton Hardy…Yes please, tell him it's urgent."

Con hit the elevator button again hard, now feeling every bit as worried as Fenton and taking it out on the stubbornly slow elevator.

"...Hello…Tony?...I'll tell them, but that's not why I called. Is Frank with you?...As I thought...I hope not....I'll let you know...Bye." He snapped his phone shut wearily and glanced at Con. "He isn't with Tony." Then he addressed Stan again, "Would Frank's 'friend' have been captured on your security camera?"

"He must have. I'll have to search for it though."

"Would you mind tracking down the footage for us while Con and I take another look at the elevator and go up to the apartment?"

"Sure thing Mr Hardy. Your Frank lives an exciting life, huh?"

"Too exciting."

* * *

It did not feel to Frank like he was _'living an exciting life'_. Living an exciting life surely denoted someone having fun and Frank was not having fun. Frank was trapped in a scary photo album, stepping from one snapshot into another, each image unconnected to the last, his brain unable to process and fill in the gaps.

He had glimpsed the elevator, the parking garage…Stan the Security Guard (?)…a car…road works…his feet…a street…a door (number fourteen?)…a sleeping bag. It seemed that every time he blinked, his psyche shifted in its reality – sometimes a matter of seconds, sometimes minutes in the flutter of an eyelid. No matter how hard he had tried to focus his mind or keep those blinks short, he could not do it.

Only now were things starting to make sense. Like the fact that when Frank moved his arms, they stayed put, each wrist tied with what must be lengths of cord, arms crisscrossed across his front and than the ends knotted at his back – no hope of either hand being able to reach the other, let alone the knots. Small wonder that his ankles had not been bound.

He turned his head, which took serious effort, and sought out the greatest source of light, that being a window. Everything was in stark focus, the colors vivid and psychedelic, vapour trails chasing the leader as his eyes panned. He was forced to squint, a headache building.

Just to the one side of the slightly opened window, there was a stack of packing cases with a man perched cross-legged on top, looking out with something across his lap. Sensing Frank's gaze, his face began to turn towards him, but before Frank could translate what he was seeing properly, his eyes were drooping again.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Frank fought against his drugged induced fatigue to keep himself in the make-sense present, then realised he was being spoken to, so centered his concentration on the words instead to use as a tool in fighting his sludgy head.

"Frank ain't it? You okay?"

Frank didn't answer. Couldn't. Could only manage a heavy hiss.

There was the noise of something being set aside, the window being slid shut fully and then finally soft, approaching footfalls. "Sorry I had to do this, friend."

"Friend? I don't think so." But just to make doubly sure, Frank opened his eyes again and glared up into the face of the crouching figure. A face he recognised, sure, but not someone he would ever refer to as a 'friend'. "I don't need another friend." Frank said, surprising himself at his suddenly strong voice.

It must have startled the man hovering over him too, judging from the noise he made and his quickness of movement. He hoisted Frank into a sitting position by his upper arms, shifted him until his back was to a pillar and then made busy binding Frank securely to it.

Now, not only were Frank's hands secured like a straight jacket, but there was zero chance of him being able to pull his arms over his head to loosen the rope. He had to admit though, that of all the times he had been tied up – and there were plenty to choose from – this was the most comfortable but secure way it had ever been done.

Also, Frank now knew why he had retained the image of a sleeping bag – he had been lying on one, with a soft inflatable pillow for good measure. For a bad guy, this man was being uncommonly considerate.

Frank had tried to resist being bound to the pillar, but it was impossible as he was still so sluggish that even his legs wouldn't cooperate, heavy and as useless as lead weights. But his strength was returning quickly and the man knew it, hence the palpable rush to get his prisoner under effective control. Taking in the man's bruised appearance, Frank remembered why.

_

* * *

_

Frank was talking to Con on his cell phone as he exited his apartment. Letting him know that he was heading out to meet his dad and have that 'little chat' his father had wanted to have with Mr Bale the evening before – but more calmly this time.

_Balancing the phone with his chin, he entered the six digit numbered password into his apartment's alarm system and then quickly stepped into the outside corridor. As he locked up, he listened out for the alarm to arm itself by emitting a continuous high-pitched stream of sound before then going silent._

_He assured Con that his back was not as stiff or as painful as he had feared it would be, so he didn't need anyone to come rushing out to give him a lift. He would catch a cab to Compute-Soft instead and then drive his red Corvette back. Bidding farewell, Frank ended his call and pressed for the elevator._

_Eventually, he walked into the space, hit for the basement level and started thinking about Heather Jones. He was trusting she had picked up the evidence, his walking stick and glasses, and had kept them safe. He was sure she would have, she seemed pretty sensible – staying indoors after Frank had gone outside to help Joe and Vanessa being a fair indication of that._

_The door began to slide shut, but just as it almost reached the point of no return, he heard someone shout for him to "Hold the elevator" and a man came shooting through the gap with a disarming grin. "Damn near missed it!"_

_Frank watched him as he passed by to position himself at back of the car behind him._

_"It's goin' to be a fine day," the stranger said._

_Frank turned with a steely glare, just in time to catch the man with damning evidence in his hand. "Is that the line you used when you pinned the surveillance device to Vanessa?" Frank asked without a hint of irony._

_The man had the good grace to look suitably surprised at being exposed so easily before he was moving to take Frank out, the pin he had been holding going goodness-knows-where as he abandoned it to the air._

_It was a clumsy first attack with Frank stepping casually aside and introducing his elbow into the man's shoulder, digging it into his flesh and propelling him into the door. He hit it hard with the side of his face and shoulder, but immediately raised a leg to sidekick Frank into the furthest wall, the elevator counter swinging to accommodate their changes in weight and balance._

_The man turned on a dime and shot an arm out to hit the emergency stop button. The car obeyed and immediately juddered to a stop. Then his hand made a fist and he jumped at Frank demonstrating the same agility and speed that Frank was displaying – neither previous blows having done anything to slow either man down. _

_They were toe to toe again...arms, fists and elbows moving in a swirling series of synchronised blows, counter hits and defensive blocks, neither gaining the upper hand for the moment, each as good at close quarter combat as the other. Eventually though, Frank was able to twist the man's arm into a tenuous hold and knee him in the kidneys before shoving him away. He took the opportunity to reach for the emergency stop button to get the elevator moving again, but the man flew in to press his lower arm across Frank's chest and drive them both into the back corner._

_Now with faces an inch apart, the man angled back to create some space and his right shoulder moved. The shift in weight was almost indiscernible, but Frank's quick eyes and brain processed its meaning in a millisecond, so that when the hit came in, Frank jerked his head to the side. The fist landed far right of its target, slamming hard into the metal work and scraping knuckles – resulting in a satisfactory grunt of pain from the stranger. _

_In response, Frank struck a solid hammer blow to the guy's throat, tripping him back a few steps. Regrettably the man had retained a strong hold on Frank's forearm and used the momentum to catapult him into the guardrail, striking his ribs and stealing his breath away._

_The man was behind him now, wrapping his bicep around Frank's neck, going for the carotid artery to starve his brain of oxygen. However, Frank had lately learned a street fighting trick from none other than Con Riley...he __reached __up and held the man's arms in place, put his toes against the handrail and thrust himself backwards. The man hit the other side so hard that he emitted a grunting noise and his head connected soundly with the brushed steel finish. Frank leaned forward and did it again and then a third time just to make sure and then released his prisoner._

_The man was no longer holding on or in Frank's peripheral vision, his arm had slid free from Frank's shoulder; a soft thudding sound replacing the sounds of combat as the man slumped to the floor. Frank turned and dipped to grab the man by the scruff of the neck, his intention to knock the guy out and remove the threat. In retrospect, he should have been more intent on noting what the man's hands were doing, because at that very moment his right fist shot up, then down, and Frank felt a sharp burning sensation in the region of his collar bone._

"Careless."_ Frank thought ruefully as he looked towards his shoulder and then back at the man he had been fighting with. "Almost had you," he said and collapsed back, his strength instantly seeping away through the floor._

"_Sure pole-axed me!" the man agreed and put his hand against Frank's collarbone to carefully extract a syringe with a gentle pull. He patted Frank's upper arm and got shakily up. "Damn, but you hit hard, boy," he complained, probing his face and moving his jaw from side-to-side. _

_Frank followed the man's progress as he moved to the control panel and raised a finger...and then...and then…and then…Frank felt someone taking his arm…then there was another person's face so close to his own that he could feel hot breath against his cheek … whisperings in his ear, deep and insistent, smooth and full of enticement…controlled muttered instructions that Frank had no other choice but to obey…_

...and that was the last sensible thing Frank could recall other than the flashing, disjointed images before coming around on that sleeping bag.

* * *

Earlier, before Con had gone on his clandestine visit to meet with Fenton, he had insisted on giving Joe a ride to Vanessa's house – as he had promised Fenton he would.

Holding open the car door, Con waited as Joe warily positioned himself in the passenger seat...but only after all the old newspapers, sugary donuts bags, and disposable coffee cups had been cleared from the seat, handfuls thrown by Con over into the back.

"Dude, your car is more disgusting than mine ever was!"

Con chuckled and helped him with positioning his seatbelt. "The sign of a disordered mind. It's not _all_ my garbage, James uses the car as much as I do. He hasn't gotten around to getting himself permanent transport yet. Comfortable?"

"As much as a man can be in this automated trash can."

Con stood clear of the door and pushed it shut.

After a few seconds. Joe rolled down the window as Con had not moved from the sidewalk. He was staring up and down the road, thoroughly preoccupied. "What-cha looking for?"

"Nothin'. Let's get you home. Well, back to Andrea's anyway." Con crossed to the driver's side and got in. He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. "You'll forgive me if I don't turn the radio on."

"I hear you." Joe rummaged in his inside pocket, got out a foil and started carefully unwrapping it on his lap.

"What's that?" Con asked.

"Painkiller. I haven't taken any yet. I wanted a clear head to talk to Frank, but doesn't look like I'll get the chance now."

"Ah, hang on." Con leaned and opened up the glove box. Inside was an unopened bottle of water which would have rolled out straight onto the floor if Joe had not been quick enough as to catch it, grimacing at his sudden involuntary reaction.

"Sorry, Champ."

"Too old for Champ now." Joe wedged the bottle between his knees, untwisted the lid with his good hand and used it to swallow down the tablets. Then he sat back and relaxed letting Con take control.

Con had been small talking for some time before he realised Joe's participation was at an end, having dropped off. That was a good thing because it meant Joe did not hear Fenton's text message come in to instruct Con to meet him at the parking garage. There was still no sign of the older Hardy brother.

Con lapsed into a grim faced silence until they were pulling into Andrea's drive. He killed the engine and gave Joe a shake. "Hey, buddy."

"Hmm?"

"We're here."

Joe opened his eyes, confusion reigning for a second as to where 'here' was.

Con got out and crossed around the back of the car. By the time he had opened the passenger door and helped Joe out, Vanessa was on the doorstep. Unfortunately, so was Rebel who immediately charged past her legs and jumped up at Joe who took the full brunt of his friendly attack and staggered backwards.

"Rebel!" Con bellowed and put his hands against Joe's back to steady him. "Sorry Buddy."

Joe laughed, "He was only being friendly." He bent and gave Rebel a pat and looked up to grin at Vanessa. His smile wasn't returned.

"Joe!" she said, annoyed, coming down. "Where have you been? I thought you were coming straight here – that was the agreement, wasn't it?"

Joe reddened. "I wanted to talk to Frank, but he's with Dad. I'm here now. Better late than never."

"You're definitely your dad's son," Con said, now holding Rebel steady by his collar. "You said you'd left Vanessa here as it was safer. You didn't say anything about having come straight into work after being released by the hospital."

Andrea came out next and flashed a quick smile at Con and then arched an eyebrow.

Vanessa was addressing him. "It's worse than that, Con, he wasn't released, he signed himself out. Didn't you, Joe?"

Joe swallowed. "No...I...okay, yeah I did."

Vanessa tutted and led him inside. "You don't look well, come on, I'm taking you to bed."

Andrea balked.

"On any other day, that would have been exciting," Joe muttered and gave Andrea a cheeky wink, "but not today."

Andrea waited for Con to step into the house and they loitered until the young people had rounded the bend at the top of the stairs and were out of sight.

"I missed you last night," Andrea whispered and wound her first two fingers lightly around his pinkie.

He turned and gathered her up into a tight, fierce embrace. Too tight in retrospect

"At ease, soldier!" she grunted out.

He relaxed his muscles a little and pulled back to uncover a concerned face.

She cupped his cheek and he automatically laid his hand over hers. "Has something happened? You might have fooled the kids with your act, but not me."

Con glanced up the stairs and then let go of her entirely, except for her hand, which he used to draw her into the kitchen along with Rebel. "We can't locate Frank. He's disappeared." He had blurted it out, without bothering to sugar coat it, as a consequence of which she looked shocked out of her socks.

"But Joe said he's with Fenton, didn't he just say that?"

"That was a lie Fenton had me say. The simple truth is that we don't know where he is. I've got to go over to Frank's apartment to meet Fen and try to get an angle on where he's gone. I wish Fen hadn't had me lie to Joe, the kid won't thank us for it."

Andrea looked beyond his shoulder thoughtfully. "Didn't Frank disappear before?" she asked in a voice reeking with supposition.

"Yes, but we can't keep on revisiting the Pandora incident. That was a one off and this is different. When he took off before he believed he was protecting Joe, but this time, there's no reason for that and he's on an even keel. We need to start trusting Frank. He appreciates the damage he did, he'd never do that again." On a whim, Con pulled her to him again and kissed her long and hard on the mouth, but she fought him off and held him at arm's length.

"Con, what's got into you?" Then she read something in his eyes. "What's gotten you spooked? What aren't you telling me?"

"I suspect someone is using Compute-Soft and Vanessa as a smoke screen to get at the Hardys. In every attack, there's been a Hardy present – except for the first one when Vanessa got pushed into the road."

"But what about when she was in the car. She received that second printed threat remember. The author made it very clear he was out for revenge."

"Yes, but think about it – it was Joe's car that was destroyed, not hers, and Joe never _did_ receive the copy of the promised photograph. I'm worried that anyone who is with a Hardy is expendable and a tool to be used by whoever is stalking them. I'm scared witless of leaving you here…of leaving you all here."

"You don't think Frank's been—"

Con cut in quickly,"—no I don't...at least, I hope to God not! Listen, I have to go, Fenton needs back-up. But can you do something for me?"

She pulled him closer to her and nuzzled into his chest, their difference in height making them ridiculous. "Anything."

"Call Laura and have her come over, she's isolated at the moment and I don't like that. And keep Rebel close, he can be a ferocious devil if someone threatens his pack."

"I will." This time it was Andrea who was reaching up to pull him down into an aggressive hug. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Fenton and me...and hopefully Frank...we'll be back as soon as we can." He reached out and patted Rebel's head. "Look after them boy. Kill on sight!"


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"Angie, isn't it?" Fenton asked as he and Con pushed through to the reception area at Compute-Soft.

She looked up from her typing and a man who was using the photocopier tipped his head slightly to listen. "Yes. Hello Mr..." her face suddenly opened up with recognition. "Weren't you here yesterday? Wasn't it you who helped Ben and the people in that car?" The man behind now began openly to listen having turned all the way around.

"Yes, that was us. I'm Mr Hardy..." he offered his palm towards Con, "and this is Mr Riley.

"Your poor eye, did you get that yesterday?"

Fenton touched his face self consciously. "Sort of. We're here to see Mr Bale." He patted his top pocket to ensure his sunglasses were there.

She started clicking on her mouse and navigating Lawrence Bale's electronic diary while throwing them interested little looks, her attention settling for the longest time on Fenton. "Is Mr Bale expecting you?" She asked eventually, squinting at the screen and panning up and down Bale's appointment calendar.

"I doubt it, but we know the secret password," Con answered dryly. She looked up to come face-to-face with his and Fenton's matching FBI badges.

Stunned, she stammered. "Erm...I...I'll just phone up and let Mr Bale's secretary know you're—"

"Let's not spoil the surprise," Fenton said cheerfully. "Can you show us where he is."

"I'm not allowed to leave the reception desk. I'll get into trouble."

"You can this once, honey. I guarantee you won't get into any trouble." He winked at her, making her smile stupidly.

Con turned to the man who had forgotten about his copying. "Sir, seems you're so keen to help, keep your eye on the desk for five minutes, huh?"

Angie came meekly from behind and led them to the elevator, the two men flanking her like bodyguards as they stood in silence waiting, Fenton fighting the urge to start literally stamping his foot.

_Waiting_...a thing Fenton hated more than anything in the world...the waiting game, uncontrollable delays, adjournments. He wanted answers _now_ and these constant delays were driving him slowly insane. Fenton knew the first twenty-four hours were imperative in any missing person's life and failure to locate someone in that timeframe diminished the probability of finding them alive significantly. It was one of life's cruel ironies that the option of involving the police was impossible until Frank had been missing for twenty-four hours anyway – and then only if the absence was deemed suspicious...seventy-two hours being the usual timeframe for a missing adult.

"_Tick...tock...tick..." _

The CCTV footage Stan had gleaned from the recorder inside his booth had proven unhelpful, even after watching it through twice carefully, panning backwards and forwards through the most significant parts.

It showed a seemingly intoxicated Frank with a man neither Fenton nor Con recognised. The man steered Frank by the upper arm to an unremarkable car with an indiscernible plate number, chatting to him the whole way and only stopping when Stan approached them.

At no time did Frank seem to be objecting, in fact, he seemed quite happy and even waved goodbye to Stan when the man nudged him. The final act, before driving serenely from the building, was for the stranger to guide Frank into the passenger seat and help attach his seat belt – help being the operative word as Frank could only manage a ham-fisted attempt.

If Con and Fenton had not discovered the collection of shallow indentations in the elevator walls, and if Frank had not appeared unusually mentally vague and physically uncoordinated, the detectives would have been forgiven in believing Fenton's oldest had been quite happy to accompany that man.

Indeed, in the footage, Stan had been so unconcerned that he had returned to his booth at the point of the car driving up the ramp and had not been able to identify the direction the car had gone.

"_Tick...tock...tick...tock..."_

On the journey over to Compute-Soft, Con had outlined his theory that the Hardys were being targeted by someone using the situation with Vanessa as a convenient façade. Fenton admitted he had been thinking along the same lines himself. Felt it was too much of a coincidence that he had been injured, a bomb planted in Joe's car, and Frank was now missing.

Con had asked him the customary 'cop question': "Have you any enemies that might want to hurt you or the boys – Laura even?"

Fenton had snorted: "How long a list to you want, Zarkof? Bad guys do not take kindly to being locked up and the boys have collected their fair share of foes over the years too. It would take hours to pull a list together – hours Frank doesn't have."

"_Tick...tock...tick...tock..."_

The only other avenues of investigation open to them now were questioning Lawrence Bale, and then if need be, Joe…but only as a last resort. Fenton and Con shared the gut feeling that Bale _must _be involved in Frank's disappearance, even if only by association, so he wasn't going to be let off the hook any time soon.

If Bale had some information, Fenton would get it out of him. One way or the other.

"_Tick...tock...tick...tock..."_

And if Lawrence Bale failed to come through for them, the only unavoidable option left was to ask Joe whether he recognised the guy Frank had gone off with. That would mean having to admit to Joe that they had systematically lied to him – even though they had made a specific agreement never to do that to one another again.

Fenton would rather not have to do that, he did not want to push Joe any further. Joe should be allowed to rest and recover…Joe should be allowing himself to rest and recover. Especially after the way he had collapsed into Fenton's arms at the hospital, babbling inconsolably about how terrified of losing Frank and Vanessa he had become, and how he had failed as a brother over the last few months – unable to get Frank to open up until he had had to get violent as frustration reigned at Frank's refusal to share. About how conflicted Joe's feelings towards his brother were, how Joe felt he was falling apart, becoming a nervous wreck.

"_Tick...tock...__FLAMIN'__...tick...FLAMIN'...tock…" _

Every avenue Fenton ventured into to find Frank seemed to be leading nowhere, dead ends at every turn.

Fenton felt something touch his arm and looked down to find it was Con's hand. He had been so engrossed in thought that he had not registered the elevator's arrival, or heard Con talking to him. "Sorry," he muttered.

At the second level, they stepped out of the elevator and Angie led them towards Bale's room, but before they took more than a few steps, someone opened the office's door and exited, turning to walk towards them. It was a short, portly man with receding red hair, the man from the photograph, Mr Bale.

"Mr Bale, these two gentlemen are here to see you, Sir." Angie said.

He stopped and gave them a barely curious quick once over – doing a double take at Con – before discourteously and without actually acknowledging their presence began interrogating Angie. "Young lady, why aren't you at your desk? You know the protocol, my Secretary should always be called first."

Angie went crimson.

Fenton shared a look with Con whose face bore the look of, _"Who is this clown?"_

"I'll ask you to return these two gentlemen to reception and take their details and I'll have Elaine contact them in due course." Finally he decided to include the two strangers standing with his receptionist in the conversation. "Sorry gentlemen. I'll ask you to make an appointment before you cold-call in the future. Angie, you can be sure we'll speak about this later, you've overstepped the acceptable mark."

Fenton's eyebrow shot painfully up, and Con elevated himself even more than his six feet three frame already allowed. Vanessa had not been exaggerating about this man, he was a jerk of the highest order, and a bully.

Angie was doing more than just going red now, she was upset and humiliated. Mr Bale had not kept his voice down.

Fenton planted his hand against her shoulder and stepped slightly in front, Con independently making the same movement.

Leaning closer to Mr Bale, Fenton addressed him in a low voice. "I suggest you thank this young woman for not making a scene when we insisted she bring us up here, considering we're going to be asking you about some discrepancies with your accounts..."

"...amongst other things," Con growled, finishing the speech for Fenton and thrusting his FBI badge in Bale's face. Unlike Fenton, he was not keeping his voice low. "Apologise to the girl for, what I'm sure, was your unintentional rudeness, and have the courtesy of using her name this time. You know what it is, don't you – you must see her every morning? It's on her name badge if you're unsure."

Bale blinked a few times and then said in a strained voice. "I apologise Angie, I didn't realise."

Con made a circular motion with this finger, "Turn around Mr Bale and go back the way you just came, unless of course you'd prefer to walk out through the front door in handcuffs to accompany us to the precinct?"

Fenton's mouth kinked up. Con playing hard ball was one of his favourite things, especially when his friend was bluffing – he had no shame! They couldn't take Bale _'to the precinct'_, they were not even on a case for the government this time. Not that Chief of Police Collig would have minded, being a personal friend an' all.

Bale did as he was told. He turned and headed away from them, his cheeks burning beet red, Con dogging his steps.

Fenton squeezed Angie's shoulder and kindly smiled. "You can go back downstairs now, Honey. You won't have any more problems, we'll take care of things."

"Thank you," she whispered in awe and half turned, then was swinging back to ask him a question, "are you related to Ben, he looks a lot like you?"

"Good lookin' dude, isn't he? I'm his father, and his name isn't really Ben, it's Frank."

"Frank's lucky."

Then she did leave for the elevator and Fenton was hurrying to catch up with Con, just getting there in time to see his friend's back entering the inner office with Bale. Elaine was watching them with a look of overwhelming curiosity. Then she turned at sensing Fenton there and her eyes widened slightly.

"Ben!...I mean...oh."

"No, I'm not Ben, I'm Ben's dad."

"Really?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" Fenton asked, indicating to his face and flashing a perfect smile at her.

"Yes."

"You're Elaine aren't you? Very pleased to meet you, Elaine. Ben has talked about you a lot."

"He has?" Elaine could not keep the surprise out of her voice, or the pleasure off her face that Ben should be talking about her to his family. The fact that what Frank had said might not have been entirely complimentary had not entered her head.

Fenton went to the coat stand and took down her suit jacket. "Listen, Elaine, as pleasurable as it is to meet you at last, me and my partner are having a confidential meeting with Mr Bale and he said you should take an early lunch – take Angie with you, go shopping or something."

"Really?" She got up from her chair and went into Mr Bale's doorway. "Is that really okay with you, Mr Bale?"

Bale looked up from staring at his knees from his place at his meeting table. His lip twitched and his eyes darted up to Con who was still glowering down at him. "Yes Elaine. Take an early lunch."

"Yes, go on, enjoy yourselves," Fenton encouraged and helped her into her blue jacket before taking her to the outside door and ushering her out with more encouraging noises and another round of movie star lazy grins. The second the door was shut his smile was gone and he headed into Mr Bale's inner sanctum.

Con was now sitting across from Bale and Fenton felt his gaze following him as he went about silently shutting down all the blinds to ensure they had total privacy.

Earlier, he had carefully gone over with Con how they were going to handle this. Part one had already been successfully accomplished. Fenton had enchanted everyone on the way in, and then Con had done the hard-nosed stuff. Now it was time for part two of his charm offensive.

Fenton dropped down the final blind and then turned and, hooked his foot on Bale's chair leg and upended the entire thing sending Bale tumbling to the ground. Then he bent close and grabbed Bale's jowly jaw in his fist. "Where's my son?" he hissed.

"Your so…son?" Bale stammered.

Con was on his feet, taken entirely by surprise at this turn of events. "Er, Fen?"

Fenton flared up at his friend, "Don't interfere!" he ordered and turned back to Bale. "So far you've fraud to contend with, money laundering, assault, blackmail, attempted murder. Do you really want to add kidnapping to that lengthening list?"

Bale put his palms up, clearly frightened out of his wits and attempted to answer, his voice made ridiculous by the shape his mouth was being forced into by Fenton's gradually tightening fingers. "Wh...wha'? No...I'll ab-mit to fraun-d an' money launderin', bu' ...the udder t'ings? Wha' are yo' talkin' abou'?"

Fenton bared his teeth, his other hand making a fist. "Think quick, or I swear to god I'll beat the information out of your slimy mouth!"


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Fenton raised his fist even higher, ready to bring it down, but then Con was at his back. A strong forearm encircled his chest and another hand gripped onto his wrist to tug it free of Bale's face. Then Fenton found himself being lifted physically away and off the red headed man beneath. As soon as he was able, Bale was slithering away like the snake he was to cower in the corner and watch fearfully as Fenton struggled and kicked, eventually getting his heels to the ground and thrusting.

Over balancing, Con twisted and they both fell, his full weight coming down on top of Fenton and forcing him to his knees. Unable to recover quickly, Fenton found his arm wrenched up his back and then he was being hugged tightly into Con's chest. He lastly sensed a shifting as Con widened his stance to ensure he could not be easily bucked off.

Con then addressed Bale himself. "Start talking because I won't be able to hold my partner down for long."

Fenton slid his leg backwards and his heel connected sharply and satisfyingly loud against Con's shin.

"YOUCH! Fen, quit kicking ya mule!"

"He's a madman!"

"That he is. Turned feral because his kids are in danger. You know Ben? He's Fenton's son and Joe, the kid who was almost blown up yesterday is his youngest and Vanessa is his girl. You messed with the wrong people, chump."

"The car explosion was nothing to do with me."

"Prove it, because at the moment, you're in it up to your jowly neck."

"Get off me Con!" Fenton grunted.

"No can do, Flash." Con said and then addressed Bale quickly again, "You're filth Bale. I've been working in law enforcement long enough to smell it and you're stinking! I don't suppose Ben being kidnapped this morning is anything to do with you either?"

"Kidnapped? Look, I've had a small gambling problem, borrowed some money off the wrong people and then moved some money around in the company to pay them off. I was going to pay it back, but I got in over my head."

"My heart bleeds. I don't see what that's got to do with where Ben is."

"It doesn't, I'm trying to explain, let me explain!"

Fenton sensed Con's concentration lapse a little as some of the strength he was using to hold him eased off. Taking advantage, Fenton jerked and Con grunted as he was almost thrown sideways. Then the pressure was off Fenton's chest and was transferred to the back of his neck instead to force him even further into the carpeted floor.

"Make your explanation quick Bale, and make it good!" Con snapped.

"I am!...My lender sold my debt onto someone else and he started blackmailing me. He didn't want money though, he wanted me to launder cash through the firm for him – the money he was getting through blackmailing others. Miss Bender, she saw something was wrong and I had to get rid of her. But the man, he knew she had a list and wanted to get it back, but the man he got to do it messed up, pushed her in the road by accident."

"And you didn't think to warn her?"

"How could I? I was…"

"…and you decided to up the game by blackmailing her yourself?"

"No! That wasn't me, that was the last time I had any input in anything that's happened since. The man who's blackmailing _me_ did that. He said he'd _'take care of the Vanessa Bender problem'_."

"And the car bomb?"

"Again, it was him, nothing to do with me. Wanted to put the wind up you, a show of strength, prove that he was more scary than you could be. He's getting desperate now that you sent the assassin after him."

Fenton froze under Con.

"What assassin?"

"The person you sent after him when he went to collect the list."

Con raised an eyebrow. "Does the guy you're money laundering for have Ben?"

"I don't know, he didn't even tell me he was blackmailing Miss Bender until afterwards, I didn't know anything about the car bomb either. He's controlling me, not the other way around."

Con loosened his hold on Fenton, letting him up, but retained a loosely hung arm around his shoulders just in case he should start trying to get at Bale again.

Fenton tried to shrug Con off, but failed. Instead he took a deep breath and asked Bale. "Who is this man?"

"I only know him by the name he gave me, but I don't think it's his real name."

"Which is?"

"Roman."

"What does Roman look like?"

Bale's eyes flashed towards Con. "Your coloring, but a rounder face and older. Not as tall. Fatter."

Fenton reached into his pocket and took out the photographs. Sorting through them he flicked one towards the red headed man. "Is that the man?"

Bale picked up the picture from off the carpet. It was the one of him giving over the wad of cash. "Yes, that's him. Where did you get this?"

"We're asking the questions."

Fenton made another attempt at pushing Con's arm away, hitting zero resistance this time. He stood up and went towards Bale who leaned away from him. Fenton chose not to acknowledge him this time though. He just plucked the photo from Bale's quivering fingers and went to the window.

"What's going to happen to me?" Bale asked in a very small voice. All arrogance now gone.

"I'm too worried about my son to care about what happens to you." Fenton said. He reached and retrieved the magnetic bug from the window surround where Frank had left it earlier in the week. It was the last one that needed retrieving. Heather had collected the rest and returned them to Fenton earlier on that day along with Frank's other possessions. Fenton walked back on himself and headed for the door. "Con, let's get out of here. You're right, something stinks in here."

Con got up off the floor and followed on, quietly shutting the office door behind him and on a shell-shocked Lawrence Bale.

They waited until they were outside of Elaine's office before saying anything to each other.

"You okay? I didn't rough you up too much did I?" Con asked.

Fenton half grinned. "Nah, I think you might end up with a bruise from that kick I gave you though."

Con shrugged. "No big deal, had to look real. You nearly gave Bale a coronary though."

"Shame."

"Next time, you get to do the roughhousin' stuff."

"Wouldn't work, you're bigger than me. No one would buy it."

"Do you think I put the wind up him enough?"

"I think his ship is set at full steam ahead." Fenton was silent until they reached the elevator and pressed the button. "Con, we got an assassin on our hands."

"At least he's not aiming at us for a change!"

* * *

Frank shifted to get comfortable and decided to draw his prison guard into a conversation. "You're the guy who helped Joe from the car aren't you, not just a concerned passer-by. Who are you really?"

The man had returned to his perch on top of the packing cases to watch the world pass by. "You may call me John."

Frank decided to humour the man for a while, "okay...John." He knew that was not the guy's real name, but he also knew that 'John' was never going to reveal it. Not that it stopped Frank from pushing for further information. "What's your connection to Compute-Soft?"

John chuckled. "No connection, I'm an independent."

"Then it was you who sent that photograph and tried to blow up Vanessa and my brother?"

John laughed out loud this time, a real belly-laugh. "Nu-uh. Why would I do that an' then help 'em? I told you, I'm totally independent of any o' that stuff. I'm just doin' a job."

"Which is?"

"Vermin Exterminator."

"What's that when it's at home?...Ah."

John had leaned and retrieved the thing he had set aside earlier. It was an M-24 rifle, complete with the infer-red scope and suppressor. "Ain't she a beauty?" He frowned with disapproval and dug into his pocket for a rag which he used to rub a smudge off the stock. Then he ran his fingers over it and smiled before setting it aside again. He clearly loved that weapon.

"You're an assassin," Frank surmised.

"I don't like that term. Prefer hunter. I only act if folk deserve it an' my clients have no other avenue."

"And who decides they 'deserve it'?"

John offered no explanation. Instead, he shrugged and lifted a handgun from the window ledge, another very clean and well maintained looking weapon. He ejected the gun's cartridge case into his palm and checked it was full before slapping it back into place and also giving it a polish.

Frank broke into his reverie. "So that was you in the woods that night with the rifle?"

"Guilty as charged."

"You fired at Con, and you hurt my Dad."

"Boy, I'm goin' to vehemently argue that point. I didn't hurt ya pa..."

When he said "pa", he pronounced it as "paw". Frank surmised from his accent that he was perhaps a Texan.

"...he tripped over his own feet. It was you boys who started firin' crazy-dog. You were closer to killin' him than ever I was. If I hadn't moved him, he probably would be. You should be thankin' me."

"So who are you 'hunting' now?"

"No one you need worry yourself about."

Deciding their conversation was at an end, John turned and looked out of the window again. Frank immediately started twisting his wrists to try and work some give into the ropes.

"Can't blame you for tryin'," John said without turning back. "If I was in your shoes, I'd be vyin' to get loose too, but if you keep it up, I'm goin' to have to jab you again an' I'd sooner not do that. Could be side effects."

Frank stopped. It was not that he was heeding John's words, it was just that it was an exercise in futility, he really was inescapably tied down. He had turned his attention to trying something else instead. He had realised his hands were resting over his pockets, so he was groping about with his right hand.

"If you're lookin' for your cell phone, you won't find it. Got rid of it. Didn't want your pa to follow us usin' your GPS – not that I turned it off, used it as a diversion. I took your penknife too."

"Crap!" Frank stopped fumbling.

"Couldn't allow you to go runnin' an' hollerin' about town, warnin' folk what don't deserve warnin'. You might as well get comfortable. I'll be releasin' you once I'm done.

"And when will that be?"

John shrugged. "Softly, softly catchee monkey. I wasn't fixin' on this job takin' as long as it has. Nearly had the opportunity twice already. You got in the way the first time, an' then Andrea Bender the second time. He'll come-a callin' again and once I'm done with him, I'll be gone an' you'll never see me again...unless—"

"...unless?" Frank looked up to find John was now watching him with his eyes squinted. "Unless?"

"Do you know how good you are? You've got potential, raw talent...heck boy, you're the best I've come across in years. Just say the word an' I'll show you the ropes, push some assignments your way – plenty around. You'd hit the ground runnin'. All I'd have to do is give you a lick o' polish. You wouldn't believe the rate of pay. You'd almost be doin' me a favour!" He gestured towards another packing case that had a green tube of Pringles on top, "You hungry?"

"No, I'm not hungry, I'm not interested in anything you've got to offer either. You've shown me all the ropes I need to see." Frank lifted his fingers sardonically to illustrate his point.

Chortling again, John placed the rifle to one side and jumped down off his perch to fetch the tube of chips. "Suit yourself, but if you change your mind—"

"I won't, to either offer."

"If it's havin' to leave the family business that's botherin' you, then don't. You can do this job in your spare time."

If Frank had've been eating one of those Pringles, he would have choked on it for sure. "Trust me, your moral compass may be pointing south, but mine is most definitely indicating due north."

John shoved a handful of Pringles into his mouth and started chewing loudly.

"You know my family are going to find me, don't you?"

Frank had to wait for John to stop eating and swallow before he received an answer. "I know that your pa an' Con Riley are lookin' for you right now, but it ain't goin' to happen until I let it happen. We're well hidden an' in my experience people never look in their own backyards." John pulled another Pringle forth and indicated to the room with it. "I've been under your noses for days now an' no one's spotted me yet."

Frank frowned and took more of an interested in his surroundings and the limited view he had out of the window. It slowly dawned on him who owned the house directly across the street – Andrea and Vanessa. _"Aw, crap and then some!"_

He was trussed up in a house by a killer with a M-24 trained on his family and friends. A man with a God complex and a limited sense of right and wrong who had just offered him some overflow work!


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

"There he is," Fenton muttered.

Con bent forward, leaning his forearms against the steering wheel so he could see better. Fenton leaned back against the headrest accommodatingly.

They were sitting in Con's car outside Compute-Soft, across the street and up a little ways. Far enough away so as to not draw attention from anyone leaving the building, but close enough to spy on their movements – which is what they were doing at that moment.

A cab had pulled up five minutes earlier and it hadn't taken a genius to work out who it had been ordered for. The detectives' performance in Bale's office earlier had been carefully orchestrated in order to force the CEO into taking some sort of concise action – either to run for the hills, or lead them to the blackmailer and/or Frank. They saw that Mr Bale had jumped exactly to their tune as he exited the building carrying a cardboard box piled high. He looked hot and bothered as he climbed into the back of the waiting cab.

"Didn't even look around," Con observed.

"Good, that makes life a little easier. Let's go."

Con slowly peeled away from the curb and followed the cab, keeping far enough back so as not to be noticed, always keeping at least three cars between them and their quarry. Not that they had anything to worry about, the cab driver did not speed up, slow down or drive in any way out of the ordinary, all the way to Bale's single storey home.

As the cab slowed to a halt, Con drove on by and took his car half a block further along where he pulled into a side road and parked. They exited and went to stand at the corner and watch.

They were just in time to witness Bale hand the cab driver some money and then go to his front door.

"Not exactly a plush pad for a CEO is it?" Fenton observed.

"Gambling debts, remember."

The cab pulled away and left.

Fenton made a noise in his throat. "Cab didn't wait for him, so he's either got a car somewhere to make a getaway, or he's in no hurry. And if he's in no hurry, why not?"

"Let's find out shall we – through the back yard?"

Con and Fenton turned back on themselves and strode purposefully along the wall until they found the wooden fencing that ran against the back of the houses towards Mr Bale's home.

While they had been watching, Con had taken the time to count the dwellings up until Lawrence's Bale's house, so with a series of small jumps to look over the fence, he was able to pinpoint exactly which residence it was. The closer they got to it, however, he was issuing dark mutterings. "Oh this is just beautiful. Typical, damn typical."

"What is?"

"Do you see any gated entrances?"

Fenton looked along the long run of fencing. "No, why?...Oh...ha!" unable to control his mirth, despite the dire situation, Fenton laughed. "Sorry Zarkof, you're going to have to climb again."

"Dammit!"

Bale's residence was an end house, and as such the fencing ran around the side so they decided to climb over right at the corner to make it difficult for them to be observed.

Con bent and laced his fingers together inviting Fenton to place his foot there so he could help boost him over.

"I don't think so, Con, you first. You'll never make it if I go over first."

They swapped places and Fenton took the strain of Con's weight. To be fair to the ex-Lieutenant, it was one of his more controlled climbs. One he managed silently except for when he rolled over the top and just dropped with all the dexterity of a block of lead onto the soft patch of ground on the other side. He grunted softly as he landed with a thud, another muffled "Dammit!" following.

In comparison, Fenton hurdled the fence like a cat by walking back a few steps, sprinting forward and then leaping. He caught onto the top and vaulted over, landing feet first next to Con who was still bent and dusting himself down.

"Show off," Con whispered.

"Still life in the ol' dog yet!"

They crept forward, keeping low under the windows and taking peeks. They did not see anyone in any of the barely furnished rooms until they came upon the main bedroom and there they found Bale moving swiftly about, keying a telephone in one hand and opening drawers with the other. There was a battered, brown leather suitcase lying open on the bed.

Con stayed on watch while Fenton quickly scouted the remaining windows, disappointment written all over his face at not finding Frank in any of the rooms. He shook his head at Con's unverbalised question and crouched down next to him again, replacing chagrin with grim determination as he unzipped his jacket and removed his earpiece and receiver set from an inside pocket. Passing one half of the headset to Con, he tucked the other into his ear and pressed the transmitter to the corner of the window.

Con popped the earplug in and blocked off any noise into his other ear with a finger.

Fenton did the same thing and instantly he was able to ascertain what Bale was saying.

"_...I don't care, I'm getting out of here. Threaten me as much as you like, nothing you can say is going to make me stay...they know everything, our arrangement is at an end...I told you, they were FBI...called themselves Fenton and Con...yes Con...Con Riley? Yes, possibly...yes I'm pretty sure that was the name on his badge...I can't be certain only caught a glimpse…now just a moment...__just a moment__ Roman, don't speak to me in that manner..."_

He listened for some few more seconds and began spluttering, trying to get a word in edgewise as he went about throwing clothes into the case. Eventually he went entirely silent and then pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it in wonderment before simply tossing the handset onto the bed to carry on packing unencumbered. Clearly it had occurred to Lawrence that he no longer had to stomach abuse or orders from Roman now that everything was out in the open.

Five minutes later, having filled the case with essentials, he dropped the lid and leaned his weight on it to snap it shut. Then went to a wooden box that was on top of a drawer set and used a key to open it. From within, he withdrew a passport – checked it was still in date – grabbed the case and left the room.

Fenton quickly snatched the other half of the earpiece from Con and started shovelling it back into his pocket. "C'mon, we need to move," he said and stood up looking down expectantly at his partner.

Con stayed immobile and seated, his back leaning against the house.

"Con, _come on_." Fenton urged him urgently again.

"I'm sorry Fen, but let him go," Con muttered.

"We _can't_, we've got to follow him, he's our only connection to Frank right now."

"Bale isn't going to lead us anywhere near Frank, he's leaving town."

"We can't just let him skedaddle!"

"Let him go," Con repeated. "We don't need him. He's given me enough information to identify the blackmailer. It's him we need to go after now."

Fenton crouched back down to his friend's level and looked him full in the face. "How? All we've got is a name, and probably not his real name at that. What kind of a name _is_ Roman anyway?"

"He's not called Roman, he _is_ a Roman."

"Huh?"

Con put his hand out and made a 'gimme' gesture with his fingers. "Give me that photograph of Bale, the one with the money."

Fenton pulled the pictures from his pocket, selected the relevant one and passed it across. Con analysed it for a few seconds with new eyes and nodded his head. "I know who the other man is now, although I've not seen him for years. He has a Roman name...like I do."

"You don't have a Roman name, your name is Irish."

Con laughed bitterly. "My surname is, but not my first."

"But you can't get more Irish then Con."

"Con isn't my real name, not my full name anyway, I abbreviate."

Fenton frowned. "Well, what is it then? Connor, Conroy, Conrad—"

"—Constantine...okay? Constantine. Go on, get it out of your system."

Gaping for a second, Fenton resisted the urge to bite down on his lip. "Constantine? Are you serious?"

"Why do you think I just go by 'Con'?" Con raked his fingers though his hair and grimaced.

"Well okay, so you're named after a Roman Emperor, I've heard worse. And me and Laura, we were flying close to the wind with Franklin, so it's not so—" Fenton's speech wound down. He'd already run dry of soothing words, the horror of his friend having been lumbered with such an astonishingly bad name washed over him. "You poor sap. What were your parents _thinking_?"

"My parent_ weren't_ thinking, that was half their problem, they never did. They loved Romans, and because they loved Romans, they gave both me and my brother dumb names. His is even worse than mine. They named him Claudius."

And now Fenton did laugh out loud, that is until he suddenly realised the significance of what his partner was telling him. That shut him up quicker than any boot up the backside from Con Riley could have done. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"That if there's one thing my brother specialises in, it's blackmail. At first, when we were kids, it was burglary and helping himself to other folks' possessions. But blackmail was where he true talents lay. Far more profitable and less troublesome." Con snorted at far gone memories and leaned his head back fully against the wall. "Claud and me were both good at investigating, but he chose to feed his abilities into less palatable ventures. He searches for skeletons in other people's closets and then rattles them. Makes them pay for their moments of weakness." Con's hazel eyes flicked away for a second and then came back to settle on Fenton intensely, "Trust me, I know only too well how he can use it to his advantage. He kept me at arm's length from Little Jimmy for long enough that way." He smiled grimly, "The crime that just kept on paying, for years and years."

Fenton sat back on the ground. "What does he have on you?"

"Enough to have ruined me professionally if I hadn't left. And enough that it ruined something that should have been good." Con was clearly uncomfortable at the direction their conversation had turned, the eye contact gone.

Fenton raised a silencing hand. "Con, don't say any more. None of my business and I don't care." He sat thoughtful for a moment, mulling over Con's revelations. "No wonder 'Roman' was so insistent in confirming your surname, and Bale gave you a double take – probably thought Claudius was you for a moment."

Con returned the photograph. "It also means something else unpalatable, Flash."

Fenton returned a blank look.

"It means that Frank probably wasn't taken by my brother, or anyone he's working with. Claud doesn't work with anyone other than my family members – the ones who follow his life's path, the people he can trust. The guy in that footage wasn't a member of my family." Con reached to grip Fenton's forearm. "I think we need to consider this as a worst case scenario—

"—that Frank was taken by the assassin…a professional killer?" Fenton finished, the upward inflection at the end of the sentence an attempt at keeping it to a 'what if', rather than a 'fact'.

In contrast, Con did not want to play at the 'what if's' anymore. He was too angry for that. "Seems my brother might have annoyed the wrong person somewhere along with the line and a bounty has been put on his head. I'm not surprised. He's been playing with the crocodiles for so long that one was bound to bite. Maybe Frank got in the way of the assassin, found something out – who knows, it's all supposition. But what we _do_ know is that if Frank is with this guy, then he's in serious trouble." Con tipped his head. "You're going to have to confess to Joe. He's the only one who can confirm for sure if the guy in the footage is a friend of Frank's or not."

Fenton wilted as the enormity of the issue hit home. "Hell!"

"Sure feels that way, Buddy. So much for our theory that someone with an axe to grind is stalking the Hardy clan." Con raised himself and started pacing the lawn, no longer interested in hiding their proximity to Lawrence Bale. "I'm going to have to phone James, get him to find Claud's address, if he can. He moves around a lot. As much as I hate the man, we can't let him be picked off by an assassin – and the closer we are to him, the closer we are to the shooter and possibly Frank. We can use Claud as bait if need be. Set up a sting operation. Get Ezra Collig and his boys involved."

* * *

Andrea turned at the sound of Vanessa entering the kitchen. "Want a hot chocolate? I'm going to have one."

"Please." Vanessa moved to sit down at the table.

"Would Joe like one?"

"Joe's asleep. Was within five minutes of lying down. I don't know what he thought he was proving by going into work like that."

Andrea poured boiling water over the chocolate flakes and considered whether she should tell her daughter about Frank's current status but decided against it. Con hadn't said that she could not, but equally, he hadn't said she _could_. "Cut Joe some slack, he's worrying about his brother and you."

Vanessa wrinkled her nose. "I know. His worry for Frank is getting irrational, becoming a problem."

"_Irrational? No. Problem? Very possibly."_ Andrea wondered fleetingly if Joe was sensing something was wrong subconsciously but wasn't receiving the message in high definition. He and Frank had a strange link, almost of a psychic quality, born out of having worked so closely with one another for so long.

"Did I hear you on the phone earlier?" Vanessa asked, changing her tone of voice, as well as the subject.

Andrea dropped down a steaming cup in front of her daughter and settled down in the chair opposite. "I was talking to Laura. She said she'll drop over later for some company. And for purely selfish reasons, I thought she could help us with the disobedient Joe too. Help to keep him in line."

Vanessa smiled. "Good plan. Mrs H is the only one who can."

There came an insistent scratching from the back of the house. "Talking of disobedient, I'd better let Rebel in before he wakes our guest up." Andrea rose from her chair and headed for the door.

Vanessa laughed. "Unlikely. Once Joe's asleep, a train wreck couldn't wake him."

Andrea passed through the hallway and into the living room. She was perturbed not to find Rebel at his usual spot when he wanted in from a toilet visit. Usually he was right outside the door, staring through the glass with his large tongue lolling excitedly to one side and his tail whipping around so fast he was in real danger of taking flight. "Stupid Mutt!"

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, immediately admitting a breeze which lifted and blew her hair about. Smoothing her tresses down, she half stepped out onto the patio. "Changed your mind?" she asked Rebel, who was curled up in the middle of the lawn. No reaction. She felt a little foolish for having forgotten he couldn't possibly hear her. So she put her hands together and clapped loudly. Getting a zero reaction, she stamped on the floor instead, assuming the vibrations would get his attention. Nadda.

"Really really stupid mutt!" she said this time and half turned back to get the remote for his vibrating collar. She changed her mind when she considered it was all the way back in the kitchen and instead stepped out fully to head across the yard. "Hey, deaf-lugs," she said affectionately and prodded Rebel with her toe.

Rebel shifted this time, but only because her foot had moved him. His head rolled off his paws from where it had been resting and flopped uselessly down onto the grass. He gave off a great rumbling snore "Rebel?" She went down on her knees next to him and stroked his head. "What's the matter with you, what's happened?" she asked worriedly, as if Rebel could answer her in any meaningful way, even if he_ had_ been awake.

"_Drugged. He sure loves a bit of steak,"_ said a man's voice behind her.

She started and her head whipped around, immediately appreciating the mistake she had made at letting Rebel out in the yard alone as the barrel of a gun was thrust into her face.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

The stranger with the gun dipped and took Andrea by the bicep to yank her closely to him, so close that they were practically touching front to front. She looked up into two familiar looking hazel eyes – familiar in relation to their color and almond shape, not in emotion. They were cruel and flat, not filled with the adoring and soft gaze Con reserved only for her. This was the man who had been in her house that night when she had be forced to hide in the closet with Vanessa. Now she knew why she had confused him with Con.

Whether it was because Con was now in her gut, or that she was so familiar with his smell, his essence – she couldn't really explain it, but she knew for sure that this man was somehow related to Con on a molecular level. But this man was a different breed of Riley and he was not here to welcome her into the family.

The innate familiarity that Andrea sensed was probably the reason why he had gotten close enough to Rebel as to drug him. Con had not considered that the enemy might be someone close to him…and why would he?

The man studied her for a few seconds and his head dipped towards her, his mouth opening slightly. Horrified, she realised he was moving in for a kiss and she felt immediately sick with panic, more mortified at the thought of a stranger planting one on her than the cannon still pointed at her cheek.

"Please don't!" she begged, attempted to jerk away and moved her face aside.

But he pulled her closer still, holding her arm so tightly his finger were sure to decorate her skin with bruises. "Don't fight me."

She whimpered and shut her eyes tightly, blocking out the image of his face looming ever closer to its target...but she had been wrong, he was not trying to kiss her, he was leaning forward to speak quietly.

"Inside and be quiet," he hissed and started pulling her towards the open patio door.

Then she realised his intention could be getting access to Vanessa and a new emotion took over from the abject fear. One of maternal protection. "My daughter isn't here," she said quickly.

He didn't break his stride. "Then we'll wait for her."

"No...wait, you don't understand. She's not coming home at all, she's at the hospital with her boyfriend. After that they're going away." Andrea pulled against him, trying to stop him from entering the building. "She packed her bag and went this morning." Then he did stop, but only to pull her close again and up onto her toes to look directly into her wide, frightened eyes.

"You're lying," he said with certainty and started walking with her again. "I told you to be quiet – unless you want to get hurt," and to illustrate that he was not messing around he squeezed hard on her arm, making her gasp. "I pride myself on not being a gentleman and I don't negotiate when I'm winning." Then he relaxed his grip slightly and tugged her over the threshold and into the house, her counter pulls not making the slightest difference.

"Stand here, and don't move," he instructed. He let her go but retained his gun on her, the muzzle still aimed at her face and switched his attention to the door to slide it shut.

Andrea knew that once that happened he would lock it, and that would cause serious problems if it was needed as an escape route. What with the new security measures they had put in place, all the doors were locked, including every window. The chain across the side door was even connected to the very audible alarm system that Joe had assembled, so any chance of them getting out in a hurry, unnoticed was minimal. She had to do something to stop him, and that opportunity came in the guise of Vanessa appearing in the doorway.

"Mom, how long does it take to get Rebel in?" she asked and then froze in shock at the sight that met her.

The man turned and his gun arm started to divert.

"Run baby, RUN!" Andrea yelled and swung her foot as hard as possible to kick him in the shin, simultaneously pushing the gun off target. Her hand to eye coordination had never been very good and her foot's aim was off, so although she did move his arm, she merely glanced his shin bone. He still hollered though, so she must have hurt him. The only problem was that he barely wobbled and instead swung his arm and backhanded Andrea across the jaw, knocked her spinning into the armchair.

Andrea felt her face burning and her lip instantly begin to swell. Through tearing eyes she looked up to see that her daughter had made it partway up the hall towards the front door but at the sound of the hit had faltered, torn between the choice of getting out of the house, or going back to help. It was that indecision that proved their ultimate undoing.

The man moved swiftly to pulled Andrea up by her hair and yank her into Vanessa's view, pushing the gun hard into Andrea's temple. "Move and I'll make more of a mess of your pretty mother."

"NO!" Vanessa raised her palms in supplication. "Leave her alone."

"Baby, just go."

"I told you to SHUT UP!" the man shouted and shook Andrea by the hair, her hands coming up to cling on and counteract his action. "Lady, you've got one big mouth." He shifted the gun from Andrea to Vanessa again. "Get in here and take a seat. And don't try anything rash or you'll get the same treatment as your mother."

Vanessa did as she was told and entered the room. The man circled her with Andrea to ensure Vanessa would not get close enough to try anything. As soon as Vanessa was in front of the couch, he pushed Andrea forward into her daughter's arms.

"Sit," he ordered again.

They both perched down on the edge of the sofa and Andrea allowed Vanessa to angle her body so she was behind her and slightly protected. That way they could talk semi-privately too. "Mom, are you alright?" she asked quickly and angled her eyes upwards to indicate that Joe must have heard what was happening, so they were not beaten yet.

"Yes," Andrea answered, and was instantly humiliated at the sound of her own quivering voice. She probed her lip gently with her tongue and realised it was bleeding. In fact, her whole jaw ached.

Vanessa slipped her arms about her mother and held her tightly before turning on the man, lividly angry. "You touch my mom again and I'll kill you!" she screamed.

"I'll take that under advisement. She was warned."

"Just take what you want and go," Andrea said and wiped the tears from her face.

"Lady, if only it were that easy. That's all dependent upon what your daughter does. If she can convince me she's called off the dogs, then I'll leave. If she can't, then you're coming with me as security." He stepped sideways to the phone on the table by the door, picked up the handset and threw it towards them. It landed in Vanessa's lap, making her jump. "Phone him. Tell him you made a mistake. Tell him you'll pay him in full, but that you want to call it off."

Vanessa fixed him with a quizzical look. "I've not had to pay them anything. They've been working on the case as a favour. They've not asked for payment, and I doubt they ever will – frankly, I couldn't afford their rates even if I wanted to. Nothing I can say to them will make a difference, it'll just make them all the more determined to run you down. That's the thing about the Hardys, they always get their man and it's a matter of professional pride, so if I try to call them off, it won't stop them."

The man tipped his head. "Don't play me for a fool."

There was a long drawn out silence with the man and Vanessa both trying to out-stare one another. Eventually Vanessa broke the impasse. "Then I don't understand—"

"—CALL HIM!" the man bellowed and cocked the gun.

Vanessa jumped out of her skin. "Phone WHO? I don't understand who you mean!"

"The assassin, the gun-for-hire," he stepped forward and picked up the phone from her lap and thrust it forward. "Phone, or I'll hurt your mom some more."

"I can't!" The man moved around towards Andrea causing Vanessa to lean across her mother. "Don't you touch her, you stinking coward…makes you feel a man does it, hitting a woman half your size?"

"It gives me no pleasure, but if you don't phone I'm—"

That was as far as he got because at that moment he was turning at a shuffled noise behind him. He must have had a miniscule time to register that Joe was there before two tightly interconnected fists were smashing down hard between his shoulder blades. The instant they hit, the man went to ground on his front with a grunt, but it hurt Joe a lot too and sent him staggering. "Van, MOVE!" Joe regained his balance and dived for the gun which the man was still clutching in his hand. By this time, the man had turned onto his back and was swinging the weapon around.

Andrea was pulled up and dragged by the wrist towards the hallway, the sounds of struggling and shouting loud and ferocious behind them. She stole a quick look back and saw that Joe was astride the man, giving him a sound roundhouse punch to the face, his remaining hand enveloped around the man's fist and gun holding it out wide to allow the women to make good their escape.

Vanessa had learned her lesson this time, did not pause to go back to help and continued to pull Andrea along. They got about half way to the front door when a man's shape materialised in the front doorway, the frosted glass illustrating he was very large indeed. Vanessa gasped and pulled up short with a little slide almost falling backwards in her shock. Pin wheeling around she pushed Andrea back the way they had come. "The side door!" she shrieked.

But that area was barred to them too as, at that moment, there came the sound of the utility room window imploding as someone else made entry to the property. So Vanessa veered them breathlessly away again toward the living room, their only possible option for escape now being the patio door. As soon as they were in the doorway they realised with sinking hearts the hopelessness of their situation.

They were in time to witness Joe taking a strike in the shoulder by the man's foot who had somehow managed to gain the upper hand, possibly because Joe was weakened by the events of the day before. The not unsubstantial kick turned and propelled Joe at a glide up against the armchair. Still unwilling to admit defeat, Joe was immediately up to his haunches and was coming roaring back for more as the man raised the gun and point blank fired. The force of the blast lifted and pushed Joe crashing into the glass display cabinet to the side of the sofa. Glass cracked and a pane shattered and fell from its casement as Joe crashed unmoving to earth.

Vanessa screamed and fell to the floor herself to scramble for her boyfriend, leaving Andrea standing lonely and vulnerable in the middle of the room.

The man made for her, far quicker than could have been expected for someone who had just taken a hard beating, and she was too shocked at what had just happened to retreat, so within seconds she was being taken by the upper arm and turned. The gun was introduced to her throbbing jaw and his elbow angled to dig into her shoulder and hold her to him, so tightly she could feel his belt buckle at the small of her back. His other arm transferred to her waist and around her wrist to take most of her weight so she was barely standing for herself. He swung her to face the front door.

Standing in the hallway was her darling Con Riley, his face opened wide with horror at the scene before him. He had been the large figure they had seen on the other side of the front door. Con had come to help them, had used his key to get in, but the women had not realised and in their panic had rejected him.

Then James Anderson careened into the picture beside Con and shoulder barged his uncle flat against the wall so he could get a clear aim. "Police – drop the weapon!" he roared. His hair was covered in glass where he had evidently just entered at speed via the now shattered side window, a long bloody scratch ran down his arm. "Dad?" he gasped in shock.

Claud's face darted behind Andrea's. "Don't do it Jimmy, I _will _kill her!" the man said. "What's two homicides in one day to a condemned man?"

Then Andrea felt herself swinging again as she was turned urgently to be angled sideways to the hallway and there was Fenton at the now open patio door staring mesmerised towards a motionless Joe and a sobbing Vanessa who was hugging his limp and lifeless body to her, rocking him to and fro, her face buried into his shoulder.

Fenton began to pivot, the movement slow, so very very slowwwwww as he transferred his attention from his son to James's father. As Fenton's gaze settled, dark murder was clear in his eyes – both at what had been done to his son, but what was going to be done to Claud Riley at the hands of the gentle Hardy once the opportunity presented itself.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Everything was fuzzing at the edges of Andrea's vision…

"Andrea!"Someone barked an order at her, but she was drifting, about to faint, the sound of her name being communicated in her brain like water in the ear. Frank was really onto something with this detachment stuff. _"__Andrea, stay with me__!" _The voice commanded again, and with some difficulty, Andrea forced herself back and looked towards the direction the noise had come from, Con's concerned features de-blurring into sharper focus. Andrea allowed a strange calmness to settle and wash over her as she accepted that what was happening to her was out of her control.

A movement to her left took her attention as Fenton finally made an aggressive charge towards the man holding her, obvious from his demeanour that he was going after the guy, gun or no gun. The muzzle was pushed even further into her throat and the man reversed a couple of hasty steps. "Back off!" he yelled. "I'll kill her!"

Con shouted and immediately tore across on an interception course, catching and halting his friend before he was able to launch his physical attack, "Please buddy, don't," he pleaded, placing Fenton at arm's length.

Fenton said simply, "He killed my son."

Con's face screwed up. "I know Fen, God Fen I know. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, but Andrea isn't any more dispensable!" He stepped across the front of him, turning his back on Andrea and Claud and barring Fenton's way.

There was a time of uneasy stillness and inactivity as Fenton and Con watched one another warily. To Andrea, it seemed like they were holding a wordless conversation. But then Fenton made another dive towards the man holding Andrea, which forced Con to have drive Fenton toward the sofa and force him down into it to hold him fast. Con half turned and held a palm out, "Don't do anything rash, Claud."

Clearly not understanding, James ventured further into the room still keeping his own father in his sights and took in the view of Vanessa and Joe on the floor, his shoulders sagged. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dad? You're not right in the head! You seriously need help."

Unaffected by James's low esteem of him, Claud commanded, "Jimmy, empty the gun and then throw it down the hall. You know as well as I do that you won't shoot your ol' Dad."

"You think so, huh?" James countered, not diverting his police issue sidearm's trajectory by even a millimeter. "These are my family now, you don't factor."

Andrea felt the gun being removed from her neck to be relocated to her head. Immediately it was at her temple there was literally an ear drum bursting explosion and she screamed shrilly at the pain. He had evidently laid the gun on its side and coldly pulled the trigger. A hole was torn into the ceiling and plaster and dust came down around their feet. Now she was deaf in one ear and a terrific headache instantly replaced the aching jaw.

"NO!" Con yelled.

James immediately opened up his gun's casement, "Okay...okay...I'm doing it, just don't do that again," he begged and emptied the unused cartridges out onto the wooden floor, pretty bronze colored metal bouncing and rolling in all directions. He turned and tossed the gun out of the room as instructed.

"Oh, this is a beautiful family reunion," Claud said. "I don't think I could have planned it more perfectly. A sweet, sweet irony."

"What?" Con snapped, the muscles in his jaw throbbing. "What can possibly be the irony in all of this?"

"Well, you took my woman, and now I'm about to take yours. She _is_ yours, isn't she?"

Vanessa finally looked up from Joe's shoulder.

Con's eyes dangerously narrowed. "Watch your mouth Claud."

"Tell me I'm wrong. Saw you visiting when everyone else was out of the house. You need to draw the drapes if you don't want people knowing. She's yours, isn't she?" he asked again.

Andrea and Con locked eyes. _"Don't deny me...don't deny me..."_ she silently pleaded.

Something in her eyes must have spoken to him because he took in a sharp injection of air. "Yes," he admitted softly, not breaking her gaze.

"Boxing above your weight again, I see," Claud said. "Tell me, brother, is it a normal, healthy relationship this time?"

"Meaning what?

"Still got time for kiddies?"

"Shut up..."

"Does this pretty lady even want them?"

"For God's sake!"

It was clear from the chuckle in Andrea's good ear that Claud was enjoying every second of antagonising and making his younger brother squirm, James viewing the uncomfortable exchange like he was watching a tennis match in progress.

At least now Fenton had stopped trying to get out from under Con, his head lowered and shaking, defeated.

"And then there's the final irony, Constantine—"

"Don't,"

"—and this one's a doozy."

"Dad," James muttered. "Just stop."

"But don't you want to know, Jimmy? What your Uncle's been keeping from you for all these long, long years?"

Con jumped up off the sofa. "CLAUD! Shut the hell up...James, doesn't...for God's sake Claud, don't DO this!" He put his hands over his head, his world spiralling.

Claud chuckled again and motioned towards Con with his chin. "Jimmy, meet your daddy, your real daddy.

A crushing silence descended on the room at this latest eye-opener and all eyes turned towards James.

Con mentally collapsed in on himself in an instant, his hands slipping to cover his face, but then James did something remarkable that completely altered the whole dynamics in that room and yanked Con back into it again.

James turned to the man who had been his father for all those years, straightened up and flung a pointing accusatory finger. "You don't think I always suspected it? That on some level I _knew_ you couldn't possibly be my father?"

Claud tensed.

"Whenever I look at you I don't see any of me looking back. You're one cruel son-of-a-bitch. I was so much more like Con than I was _ever_ like you. I didn't want to do the things you had me do, you had to force me. All the other family members...other than Con and Mom...they just followed you into battle like the little soldier boys on strings they were. Pathetic sheep, every one of them."

"They're loyal to me, unlike you and 'Daddy'."

"Exactly. So you can wipe that smug self-satisfied look off your face because you're not telling me anything I didn't already work out for myself…or wished for every night of my life when I turned off the lights and hid under the blankets. You make me sick to my stomach, but you've just given me the best gift ever."

"He abandoned you, son!"

"Don't 'son' me! You wrote off that right years ago. You _made_ him abandon me and that's totally different. I was only four when you did it, but I still had ears, I heard everything and later I worked it out. You did the exact same thing to him as you did to me later on, didn't you? You told him you'd ruin his career, his life, if he didn't leave. And I'll wager you threw in a few threats aimed against me to really ice the cake?"

Claud did not offer an answer.

Con was standing stock still staring in awed silence at James.

James was continuing. "Your silence speaks volumes, Dad – or should I call you Uncle? And then there's Mom. She was never happy with you, and I could never understand why she put up with your heavy handedness. What was it made her stay right 'til the end – threats against me, or towards Con? It certainly wasn't the air of sweet serenity you provided with your fists..." he pointed at Andrea, "...and evidently still do. If mom ran into Con's arms, it was by your own hand. Oh yeah, you're all man, 'Uncle', quite the catch."

Now it was Claud's turn to get defensive. "Shut your trap, Jimmy."

"Haven't you heard the saying 'If you can't take it, don't dish it out'? You're pathetic."

"Talking's over!" Claud decided. "Everyone up...get up, get up all of you."

Fenton rose from the sofa, his shuffling movements heavy, as though a block of concrete was resting on him, his head drooping. He took two laboured steps, staggered and nearly fell until Con reached out quickly to grasp him by the elbow to offer stability. "I'm sorry, Flash," he whispered again.

Vanessa had failed to move at all, so Claud directed the gun towards her. "Even you, girlie."

"I don't want to," she said softly.

"Want doesn't come into it, go and join Con and his friend, you too Jimmy."

James went to Vanessa. "I'm so sorry Van, but you've got to do this. Joe's not going anywhere, Dad can't hurt him anymore, I promise. He'll still be here when you get back."

"No," she said in a very small voice.

"You have to think about your mom now," he said firmly and gently reached to take Joe from her.

Vanessa didn't fight it, but equally did not let go of Joe's hand either, pushing it to her wet cheek and whimpering.

Undeterred James put his arms entirely around Joe to pry him away from Vanessa and transfer and support his dead weight to himself before tenderly easing him down to the floor.

"Bye, dude," James muttered and bent even further to squeezed his friend's shoulder. Then he turned and gently helped Vanessa to her feet, her final act to kiss Joe's unresponsive fingers and then let the limb fall. She allowed herself to be moved to join Con and Fenton.

Andrea saw immediately that there was a distinct lack of eye contact between James to Con, even though Con was willing it so. Despite James's words to Claud, it was clear that James was not as comfortable with the turn of events as he had made out. A lot of his speech to his father had been bravado in order to back foot him and in retribution for past histories and for what he'd done to Joe. And it had worked. It must have been so hard for James.

Andrea's heart felt heavy for both Con and Fenton, both had lost something that day that meant life would never be the same again. Fenton had possibly lost both sons, certainly one. Con had gained and then lost the only child he was ever likely to have. Ripped cruelly from him by the man who was holding her, a man who took his sport from ruining, manipulating and controlling other people's lives. And her daughter, her baby daughter, was destroyed.

The gravity of it all hit her like a sledgehammer and Andrea sensed herself starting to slide again, but she blinked heavily against the creeping red and fought herself back.

Claud had them all gather at the patio doorway where he had a clear view of them as he pulled Andrea back out of the living room and down the hallway. "Anyone move an inch and I'll hurt her," he warned. She expected they would now be leaving, but instead he opened one of the doors and took a peek in. "Is this the basement?"

Andrea whispered a response.

"Speak up."

"It's my studio, it's where I work. Yes, it's the basement."

"Perfect," he indicated with his gun to the waiting crowd. "Get in here and go to the bottom of the steps."

They all did as they were told and headed for the door, Claud backing up to keep himself out of arm's reach, particularly wary of Fenton who was glowering darkly at him, even though Con had his arm about his shoulders and a firm grasp on his arm to stop him from making any sudden moves. They turned into the doorway and Con encouraged Fenton down, Vanessa and James following after. They walked downwards, the sounds of Vanessa's heart wrenching sobs dying out as their footsteps receded into the darkness. Then a light came on down there.

Andrea was moved forward and she and Claud stood at the top looking down at the three faces looking back up at them. Vanessa's face was now buried into James's shoulder and he had his arms about her.

Con began to plead. "Claud, send Andrea down to us now. You don't need her – keep her covered with the gun if you feel the need but don't take her with you. She'll only slow you up."

"Constantine, you know better than that! You know I don't negotiate and I need her more now than ever. Not only do I have an assassin on my tail, I've now got to contend with cops. I have every need of her, she's a valuable commodity," and then Claud smiled, "and I admit that it gives me pleasure to know that she's your woman. She could prove good company for a lonely man."

Con went a very bad color, almost purple, and started up the steps again, hollering choice words at Claud.

Andrea mentally willed Con on, willed him to come and save her…that is until her feet were suddenly fully on the ground again and she received a firm shove in the back. With a frightened gasp, she teetered on the top step for an instant and thrust her hands out to try and stop her impending fall, but it was hopeless. She dropped forward into thin air, her view of the narrow passageway lurching sickeningly, but then her hair was grabbed and she was yanked back onto solid ground again, sure this time that she'd been as good as scalped.

Con wasn't coming towards her anymore, he had faltered mid-step, although his enraged shouting hadn't diminished.

"I'd stop right there Con, if you know what's good for your woman," Claud said loudly.

A tearful Andrea was set to one side and Claud took the key from the inside of the basement door, slammed and locked it. Then he withdrew the key and tossed it. He slid the gun into the back of his pants and took Andrea by the arm again. "Stop your cryin'," he muttered and quickly pulled her along to the kitchen to get a high backed chair. He returned to the basement door and wedged it under the knob as a failsafe.

Then he walked her at speed up the hallway, bypassed Joe's body, through the living room, and out the patio door into the yard.

"_HEY!"_ someone shouted, the sound echoing around.

Claud froze and jerked his head around, searching for the originator of the yell and automatically started pulling Andrea closely to him again, his other hand groping for the gun he had unwisely left in his pants because he had not considered Andrea any sort of realistic threat.

Andrea pulled away from Claud and sought out where the shout had come from herself. Her still ringing ear was causing her sense of direction to be out of whack so it took her a while before her eyes fell on the creator of the yell. It was Frank Hardy, standing stock still, legs planted wide and aiming a gun steadily and coolly in both hands. He fired and the bullet whizzed between her and Claud's heads so closely that Andrea detected a heated, buzzing movement cut cleanly through the air – a demonstration of Frank's deadly aim. And then something black came down to clatter against the back of Claud's head and his grasp upon her was gone.

Before Andrea could collect herself, she was leaving terra firma as someone threw her weightlessly sideways. Then she was on the ground being covered under a body protectively, hands about her shoulders pulling her close.

From under her enforced hiding place, she saw and heard Frank shout, "NO!" although he didn't drop his guard. And then another higher pitched 'tat tat' of an explosion happened, this time from further away. It sounded like another gunshot, but somehow sounded hollow. It was a distinctly different discharge noise than Frank's gun had made. Then Frank took a spin to look at the empty house opposite. "John, you didn't have to _do_ that, I had him, I had him – IT WAS UNNECESSARY!" It felt like the air was charged with electricity and Andrea waited for further shots to come, but nothing further happened.

After some significant seconds, whoever was on top of her finally shifted off and strong hands helped her to sit up. She looked at her rescuer, her eyes widening as to who it was.

"Andrea?" Joe asked, "I'm sorry you got dragged into it, please tell me you're okay."

Andrea put out her trembling hands to tentatively touch his cheeks, testing him, scarcely believing it. But yes, there he was, warm, cheeky, larger than life Joe Hardy – complete with the fresh faced boyishness, come to bed eyes and that special smile he reserved only for the pretty girls…but today for her too. "But…how?"

"Con left his bullet proof vest with Van. Remember? When she was at the woods? Luckily for me she never gave it back. Headlines and revelations, huh? How I kept up the act with all that meaty gossip flying around, I'll never know." Finally he slowed down, "Seriously though Andrea, are you okay because you don't look so hot."

Frank shouted again and started running towards them – no, correction, he wasn't running towards Andrea and Joe, he was heading for where Claud had fallen.

Andrea felt Joe start to angle her away to prevent her from seeing what she shouldn't, but it was too late, she'd already seen. Staring mesmerised, Andrea wondered why she had ever believed that the lovely and warm Joe Hardy had been dead in her living room, because the real thing, a real shot, dead and bloodied man, looked a whole lot different.

"Andrea?" Joe asked, from far away.

"I'm...I think I..." And then she welcomed in that feeling of detachment that had been Frank's friend for so long and allowed the blackness to envelope and carry her off.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

In the basement, Fenton took Con by the elbow and tugged him back down the steps.

Con turned to face his friend, his face one of ashen, abject fear.

"We'll get her back, I promise," Fenton murmured.

Vanessa stopped snivelling and stepped out of James's arms, anger and worry replacing her previous make-believed misery. Luckily, it did not appear as if she had witnessed her mother nearly take a swan dive down the staircase as Van had been so intent on her play-acting with her face in James's shoulder. Fenton made a note not to tell her until after they'd gotten Andrea back safely.

"Give him a few seconds to get out of the house," Fenton said quietly. "We don't want to go busting through or we'll be putting Andrea in further jeopardy. Let Joe do his job. He's her best bet right now and in the best position to stage a surprise attack. Claud won't be considering him a threat now."

"I managed to slip Joe my night stick," James confirmed, "so he's not totally weaponless."

There was another noise from up at the door and they grew silent, the foursome all looking upwards. It sounded as though something was being shoved against the door handle. Then the noise stopped and there was only that heavy hush again.

"I doubt your father's ever shot a man before?" Fenton asked James in a low voice, "because if he had, he'd have known that they bleed quite a lot."

James shrugged. "Doubt it. Would have gotten some other poor schmuck to do it for him. He never gets his hands dirty...and he's not my dad, remember?" The latter sentence was delivered with not a small amount of bitterness and James turned stiffly away from Con, still not having made a connection.

Con looked like he had been sucker punched in the gut. "Once I'm out of here, I'm going after him. Nothing's going to hold me back this time from running my dear brother to ground. And then when I do, I'm going to rip him apart." He sat down on the bottom steps.

Fenton looked at his watch and they all waited along with him wordlessly until he finally said. "Okay, he's had long enough, let get out of here." He put a halting palm out to Vanessa who had made as if to follow them. "No, stay here honey and hang back. It's too dangerous."

She did as she was told as the three men moved up to the door and started shoulder barging their way though. Their attack on the doorframe becoming all the more urgent when they heard the sound of further gunfire.

* * *

By all accounts, it had not taken long for the three men to break out of the basement. A few good shoulder barges had done the trick. It also cracked the chair unfortunately, but that was a minor consideration in their urgency to get out of their temporary prison.

They had come running through the patio door at about the same instant as Frank was dipping to take a look at Claudius Riley, or who had _been_ Claudius Riley. In fact, Frank was clueless as to who he was, a stranger to all of them as far as the older Hardy brother was concerned.

Frank looked across at the men gathered in the doorway and shook his head. No need for a pulse check to confirm that the guy was gone, the big hole in the middle of his chest where his heart should have been was a fair indication that he was deceased.

Fenton saw him and his jaw dropped open.

Con seemed less surprise to see him there, strangely. "The hit man?"

"Yeah," Frank confirmed and went to hold up the weapon he had used to demonstrate that it could not have made a hole that ruinous in a man. But as soon as his hand was up, he realised the gun was gone. He must have dropped it on the lawn before running across. He lowered his palm, feeling a bit foolish.

James faltered in the doorway. Took one look, and returned to the house. Con did at least enter the yard to view the body, but his reaction was unreadable and emotionless.

Looking again himself, Frank noted that John's aim had been true and deadly. Clearly no amount of begging to be allowed to handle the situation on Frank's part had made the slightest difference to the outcome. John had been paid to do a job, and he had followed it through to the bitter end, even if it had meant using Frank to do it.

Frank's thoughts returned to the house across the street, to him being strapped to that column. He could not help but consider with an amount of fascination what had been going through John's head, so Frank tried his shoes on for size.

_John finished his Pringles, returned to sitting on top of the packing cases and picked up the binoculars to continue his observations of the house opposite. He watched the big dog in the yard for a while as it chewed on something and then walked around and around, bashing down the imaginary tall, wild grass to make a bed before settling down for a sleep._

_Five minutes later, the pretty blonde lady, Andrea, came out of the house and walked up to the dog, followed by Claudius Riley, the man he had been hunting, who emerged gradually and silently from the large bush beside the patio door. He must have hidden himself in the garden while John was distracted and having the conversation with Frank._

_

* * *

_

John supposed Riley's intention was to attack Andrea, and that was not going to happen if he could stop it. The only problem was that by the time he had pulled the window open wide enough to emit the rifle's barrel and had grabbed up the M-24 to get a bead on Riley, Riley had gotten Andrea so close to him that John could not fire for fear of hitting her.

_The other problem was that John had made the mistake of treating his guest to a running commentary to mitigate the boredom, so now Frank Hardy was shouting and struggling, trying to persuade him to release him so he could get down there and help Andrea. Eventually, after Riley had forced Andrea into the house, John had gone to his bag and taken out a fresh syringe to try and quieten Frank down – he was breaking his concentration. _

_But no matter how hard he tried, Frank avoided allowing him to cleanly jab him again through kicking and jerking around, and John was no fan of pot-lucking with medical instruments. Contrary to popular opinion, not all hunters enjoyed hurting people unnecessarily. Frank Hardy didn't seem to have those same qualms though, was quite happy to continue taking pot-shots with those strong fighting legs of his._

_By the time John had given it up as a bad job and returned to the window, all hell had broken loose. Viewing through the binoculars again he watched as a cop threw a stone though the side window and then start to enter, shaking his arm as he caught it on a slither of glass that was still held in the frame, but carried on clambering over the sill regardless. Fenton Hardy had then come over the back fence to start sneaking around the side of the house._

_Switching the binoculars to the interior view of the house, John was witness to Joe Hardy being kicked and shot...although he questioned that he had genuinely been shot...I mean, he clearly had, but John didn't buy that a bullet had penetrated. Joe was not bleeding out. He wondered if perhaps Joe Hardy owned body armour? _

_Observing the horror unfolding, maybe for the first time in his life, John actually disliked the fact that his enforced anonymity prevented him from going out there to intercede. _

_Through cruelty Claud Riley forced the cop to empty and dispose of his sidearm. Then there was a long period of conversation and arguing, but eventually movement as Riley began gathering his prisoners into one spot, John feared Claud was about to slaughter them all. All this John watched, hoping that one of them in that house would produce a rabbit out of a hat which clearly wasn't going to happen...enough was enough...serious intervention was required. _

_John picked up his M-24 again and took careful aim, searching for an opening, using the laser pointer facility this time for pinpoint accuracy. He was not surprised when Frank simmered down, as John knew Frank was ultimately the type of man who would appreciate the importance of the dollar shot._

_At one point John centered Claudius's head with the red dot, held his breath and began to squeeze the trigger. But then Claud shifted Andrea and the red dot danced across her eyes instead so John was forced to raise the barrel with a frustrated growl and relaxed the finger pressure. He could not and would not shoot if there was any possibility of hitting the lady – he was a man of morals, he never hurt innocent people._

_So he turned to Frank and made him a deal. He said that if he let Frank go, and gave him the hand gun, that Frank was not then to use it to capture or attack him._

_Frank agreed on his family's life, but said that if he was successful in freeing his family and friends without needing his help, that John was to let the attacker go and take his pound of flesh another time, in another place. That he should only shoot if he had no other alternative._

_John nodded his agreement and Frank assured him he was a man of his word._

_John said, "Glad to hear it boy, cause I am too," and stepped forward to cut Frank loose and then handed him the gun. "I'll be coverin' your back. Be lucky, Frank Hardy," he said, and they shook hands._

_Frank was out of the house in about five seconds flat._

* * *

Upon consideration, it was singularly the most bizarre kidnapping experience Frank had ever had and probably ever _would_ have. More worrying was how easily Frank had climbed into John's shoes, into his world, and into his way of thinking...not that for an instant did he play with the idea of entering that world entirely.

Joe half stood as Vanessa pushed between Fenton and Con and threw herself into his arms, grimacing as she careened straight into his shoulder. She rained kisses all over his face and then plonked one on the end of his nose. "Am I an awesome actress or what?" she asked, "but I really thought he'd killed you at first so…don't do that again!" She let him go and went to help her mother.

Con was at Andrea's side half a second later. Frank noted how deathly pale he was, so shell shocked that he looked ready to pass out himself. Joe joined Frank to look down at the body. "What's up with Con?" Frank whispered.

But Joe didn't have time to answer because Fenton was pulling them both into a communal hug. "That's another life you two have used up."

"Plenty more to go," Frank said.

Joe pulled back, confused. "'You _two_'? What do you mean…_'you two'_?" He turned to Frank and looked him over, his eyes focusing on his scraped wrists. "Dude, what happened?

"I got kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Joe turned to his father. "You knew about this, yeah? You must have because you said Frank was with you when he couldn't have been. You lied to me…you had CON lie to me."

"Whoa, cool it Joe! If it makes things any better, I've never been kidnapped so nicely before. John was friendly and apologetic. Wanted to feed me Pringles and tried to recruit me."

"Huh? What the hell are you talking about, bro?" Joe asked, and then instantly turned to his father again and started shouting.

Frank took his brother by the arm. "Joe, it doesn't matter..." but Joe shook him off and carried on ranting. Frank attempted a final intervention, this time with his dad, but it served no purpose, father and son were locked in a battle that only a truck on a direct collision course could stop. Neither man wanted to back down, both determined to have the final word. So Frank let them get on with it and turned his attention to Andrea instead.

He went and joined Vanessa who was on her knees next to her mother, both her and Con making attempts at bringing her back, but failing. Eventually Con asked, "Van, let me take her into the house, we can at least make her comfortable and get her away from this scene? Clean her up a bit." Then he looked up at Frank, "Junior, can I trust you to do the necessary with the police and medics?" Then he put his arms under Andrea and lifted her easily and gently from the ground and started walking to the house, Vanessa running backwards in front of them.

Frank followed, confused as to why Con was holding Andrea quite as closely as he was. Surely there was no need to be hugging the woman quite so intensely? She was not _that_ heavy.

He looked to the usual spot where the phone was, but it was missing from its cradle. Giving the room a quick once over, he couldn't see it, so he started patting down his pockets. It was a few seconds before it dawned on him that, of course, he had lost his cell.

James was sitting on the floor with his back up against the sofa and his head in his hands so Frank approached him. "James, have you radioed this in?...James...hey!"

James did not look up, "What?" he asked dully. He did not seem at all concerned that blood was running down his arm and ruining his blue shirt.

"I said…never mind. _What the heck is up with everyone?_" But he need not have bothered finding a phone because there was a banging on the front door and he took a few steps back and looked down the hall to see the clear outline of a blue uniform on the other side of the frosted glass. Taking another concerned glance at James, he headed to let whoever it was in.

He opened up to find Officer Bach on the other side, but only Bach. He looked as amazed by Frank answering the door as Frank was at not seeing any other emergency vehicles.

"What are you doing here?" Bach asked.

"Where are the others, is the ambulance on the way?" Frank countered.

"What ambulance, no one told me anything about an ambulance. All Chief Collig asked me to do was to drop over and check a few details with Mr Hardy The Lieutenant...I mean Con...and take a look at that security footage." He angled his radio towards his mouth from where it was clipped to his shoulder. "Bach Twelve, Code 2."

"_Bach Twelve, Code 2, go ahead-"_

"Have located Frank Hardy. Am bringing him in."

"_Copy that."_

"What for?" Frank asked, bemused.

"You've been with the assassin, haven't you? Didn't he abduct you?"

"How did you know that?"

"Because Con's found out his brother's involved in a case you've been working on and he contacted Anderson for his address."

"Oh right...wait...how does that relate? I'm confused."

"It's James's old man the hit man has been hired to take out. The department's been tracking the assassin for months now, trying to bring him down. Anderson felt The Chief needed to know even though he wasn't working on the case for obvious reasons. You're our best link to the guy if you've been with him, so you need to come with me."

Frank half turned back to the house and tipped his thumb. "Well that means…oh no…the guy lying dead in Andrea's back yard is James's dad and Con's brother."

"What?"

Bach pushed by Frank and ran into the house.

By the time Frank had caught up, Bach was already standing over the body looking slightly green as he snapped instructions into his radio.

James had gone from the sofa, but Frank could see he was now hiding in the dining room, sitting at one of the chairs with his back to the door. He may have heard Bach's voice and decided to make himself scarce. Frank wanted to go in there, but not being completely in the picture meant he was clueless as to the angle to take. And with James's less than welcome response to Frank's earlier request, he felt paralysed to act.

Frank needed to speak to one of the others, but Con was still upstairs with Andrea and Vanessa, and Fenton and Joe were still arguing. Frank gave some consideration to going out in the yard to interrupt them, but then Rebel weaved between their legs and they stopped tearing into each other to watch.

The dog was staggering like a man who had partaken of the strong stuff and was having far too spirited a time. His fur was drool encrusted, sticking up on the side of his face and when he tipped over onto his side on top of Fenton's feet, he was unable to get up again, all four legs kicking uselessly. He was omitting the most bizarre noises. Joe and Fenton both laughed at his antics and Fenton dipped to help. Joe headed for the house, stopping to scoop something off the ground as he went.

"Good timing, mutt." Frank muttered.

"Hey," Joe greeted Frank as he stepped through the patio doors.

"Hey yourself. Come with me." Frank took Joe by the arm and pulled him to one side. "Is that James's dad lying out there in the yard?"

Joe looked around. "Kinda, yeah."

"What do you mean 'kinda'."

Biting his lip, Joe gave his answer some serious consideration before speaking. Then he said slowly, "It is the man James thought was his dad, but as it turns out…"

He had paused because Frank's face was opening up. "it's not...Con...is it?"

"Yeah."

"Damn. No wonder James is in the state he's in. Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"And James never knew?"

"I don't know, but if he didn't he had the dead guy believing he did."

"But Con knew?"

"Well...yeah."

"Damn."

Joe looked around again. "Not only that, but Con and Andrea are together."

Frank brought his hands together into a gesture. "Together…together?"

"Yeah."

"But they don't like each other…oh, I see," Frank had just remember how tightly Con had been hugging Andrea to him.

"Dude, they do now."

"Did Vanessa know?"

"No, was news to both of us."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Huh. I was going to go in and have a word with James, but this is outside of my sphere of speciality – way adrift." Frank ran his hand though his hair. "It's not like there's anyone we can call for him either." He lifted his palms helplessly.

Joe raised up the police issue nightstick he was carrying. "I was going to give this back, but I don't think that's such a hot idea now. I'll pass it to Bach instead."

They both watched James's unmoving and hunched back for a while. Eventually Joe changed to an easier subject. "Where did you come from? I thought I was going to have to take the guy out on my own, but then, there you were with a canon, all larger than life and cool superhero dude."

"I was in that empty house opposite." Frank took Joe by the shoulders to turn him and point out the window overlooking the yard. He only got him half way before Joe groaned in pain and dropped the night stick with a clatter. "What's wrong?" Frank asked, raising his hands clear.

"Dunno, my shoulder and chest is suddenly starting to really hurt...tightening up." Screwing his face up, Joe pulled his arm across his front. "Feel a bit sick too."

"I'm not surprised, your adrenaline levels are bottoming out. Here sit down." Frank slid an arm about Joe's waist and started helping him to the sofa. But before Frank could get him there, Joe's eyes rolled and he folded, his knees collapsing.

Frank put both arms around Joe in the split second he had in an attempt at lessening the impact of Joe's inevitable fall, but his spiral was so abrupt that Joe upended them both. Joe hit the floor with a painful clattering thud and Frank ending up sprawled half across the sofa. "Aw hell, Joe." Frank said sympathetically, sitting up to look down at his stricken brother.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

"Dad!" Frank yelled, "Joe's gone off his feet."

Fenton was already at the patio doors where he'd apparently been keeping an eye on the brothers from outside and quickly came to crouch with Frank next to his youngest. "Son, hey Joe?" he asked and tapped Joe on the cheek, "C'mon sport, wake up." He followed up the slap with a good hard shake but received nothing from the encumbered young man. "He's out alright. Help me get the Kevlar vest off him, that can't be helping. Probably restricting his breathing – I thought he was faring too well after yesterday and today."

Between them they hastily stripped Joe free of his shirt and then loosened the strapping to the vest to pull it free of his body. Once it was lifted away, they both grimaced sympathetically at what had been hidden beneath.

"Con wasn't kidding when he said being hit by a bullet, even while wearing an armoured vest, was like being kicked by a horse," Fenton remarked as they stared at the blossoming target-like bruising to Joe's chest, adding to the scrapes and contusions already across his shoulder area. "How he kept so still and silent the whole time when Claud was lording it over us is amazing. Joe's pain threshold must be incredible."

"Joe said I was like a superhero today, but he's the real superhero." Frank looked up directly into his father's eyes. "We need to look after him better though. He's been carrying too much."

"You've noticed?"

"Positively suffers for his art."

"Let's get him to the sofa."

Joe started to come out of it as they were transferring him across. "What-cha doin'?" he asked vaguely as they settled him down.

"We gotcha, Bro." Frank positioned a cushion under his brother's head. "You passed out."

"Did I?"

"You sure did, just for a second or two."

"Where'd my duds go?" Joe asked, looking down at himself.

"Don't complain, if you'd had your way, you'd be naked right now."

"Huh?"

Fenton laughed at his son's confused expression and grabbed the throw that was hung over the back of the sofa to tuck around him as a blanket. "I'm taking you back to the hospital after you've rested up a while so they can take another look at that shoulder of yours and check you didn't crack a rib or two."

"Terrific—" Joe groaned.

Frank leaned over him, "Joe, Dad's gonna stay with you while I go to make up an ice pack for that bruising, but no more arguing, yeah? Give yourself permission to relax." Frank left them for the kitchen. As he passed the dining room, he came face-to-face with James who had apparently been watching what was happening with Joe, probably debating whether to help or not. Frank smiled, but James turned away wordlessly and returned to his chair at the table.

Entering the kitchen, Frank found Vanessa doing the exact same thing with ice that he was about to. "You too, huh?" he asked and chose to ignore how she wiped a tear away quickly so he would not see.

"Mom's awake" she reported and handed Frank another towel to hold the ice he was getting from the refrigerator. "I can't believe that low life hit her! Can't imagine what it was like for James growing up with such violence. Poor guy. Is Joe okay?" she asked.

"Joe just...yeah, Joe's okay," Frank answered catching himself. He didn't want to add weight to Vanessa's worries.

She left the room at speed, her footfalls heard racing back up the stairs.

Frank considered how amazing it was that for once, it was everyone else falling apart around him and he was the only one to come out of it largely unscathed. Everyone had been so worried about him, about how he would cope – to the point of Con sharing a heated disagreement with his dad about Frank's readiness to go undercover at Compute-Soft. If the conclusion of the day's activities had not been so tragic, Frank would have felt jubilant. He had outperformed even his own expectations, proven all his doubters wrong.

He was finishing off the icepack as the sound of sirens finally started to be heard, a clammer of official sounding voices beginning to fill the air. Frank heard the first stranger come into the kitchen behind him.

"_What on earth's happened?" _

"_Thank the Lord!" _Frank thought with relief. He knew that voice, this was no stranger. He didn't even have to turn around to see who it was, but he spun anyway. "Mom, am I ever glad to see you!" Frank started talking.

Laura shouldered her purse and listened carefully to what her son was telling her, nodding occasionally, but not interrupting. Her face grew more and more concerned, full of compassion and empathy. At the end, she had Frank take her to where James was.

Frank watched from the doorway as she entered the room and tentatively put her hand on James's back and bent to speak to him. He did not rebuff her advance and eventually she pulled out a chair and sat down to hold his hand. She had become 'Mom'.

Frank shut the door on the scene and went to give Joe his ice.

* * *

James was finishing his cappuccino in the cafe he had discovered just a short, ten minute walk from the Hardy's family home where he had been staying for the last two weeks. He had not returned to his _"uncle's…uh…dad's place,"_ since those events at Andrea's house, and instead had sought solace with Laura, unwilling yet to speak to Con about the disclosure that had been exposed.

It was not an understatement to say that his _"dad…uh…uncle_,_"_ Claud Riley, had made things difficult for them with his cruel taunts, built a wall between James and Con that neither of them could yet attempt to climb. And everyone knew just how bad Con was at climbing – although to be fair to Con, he had made several stabs at making contact, both through Fenton and by ringing James's cell phone. But James had ignored all attempts, did not feel ready. Laura had the opposite opinion. She didn't think it healthy. James disagreed on all points – it was his life after all and he was sick of people dictating to him what directions he should be moving in. He knew he was being kind of a brat, but life had carved him that way.

He and Con _had_ seen each other, once, at Claud's funeral. Con had organised it and Fenton had attended with him, the only people who did. None of the rest of the family had shown up – if they had even known about it. James had stood up the hill a little way next to a tree and had watched from a distance trying to conjure up some sort of feeling at the loss of Claud Riley, but all he felt was a cold numbness. He ended up observing Fenton and Con more than listening to what the priest was saying, noting how Mr H's hand retained its contact against Con's back for the entire service. Fenton was more like a brother to Con than Claud had ever been.

As the priest finished the brief eulogy, Con glanced back and he and James locked eyes and gazed at one another indecisively for a few seconds. James had almost gone over, but then he had lost his nerve and had turned around and left.

Frank and Joe had stayed away from their parent's house and James suspected that was by Laura's request. She had been brilliant. He wished his own mother had been able to be like that when he had been younger, but their personal circumstances had made that impossible.

His mother had passed away just before James had joined the force, but her personal rot had set in years before. He believed that she had willed the cancer on herself. She had not fought it, had just let the disease take her. Then as soon as she was gone, Claud's hold on James was at an end. James often wondered whether on some level his mom had orchestrated it that way, sacrificed herself to free her son.

So James had got up one morning, packed everything, and – whilst receiving a barrage of threats from Claud – turned his back and left...off on his search for the truth about 'Uncle' Constantine Riley and the rumours that he was his real father and not Claudius Riley. James had come to accept over the months that the rumours must not have been true because Con had failed to mention anything about it. He'd been living in Con's house for months, so there had been plenty of opportunities for Con to broach the subject, so why hadn't he? James felt let down by Con's cowardice.

He was suddenly pulled out of his serpentine thoughts as another cappuccino was placed down in his line of vision. He looked up in surprise at the waitress. "You've made a mistake,"

"Compliments of the lady at the bar," she said. "I've always wanted to say that," she finished with a laugh and pointed toward the counter.

Vanessa was sitting on a stool with one of those ice-cream sundae coffee contraptions in a plastic cup with a straw that he hated. Her long legs were crossed and her uppermost toes pointing directly at him. She motioned if she could come over.

He froze for a second, startled and swept a quick look about to see if anyone else was with her, but she was alone. He nodded his assent.

She climbed down off the stool, picked up her drink and a heavy looking bag and strode across. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for your life. Where's Joe?"

"At work."

James looked at his watch. "I'm losing track," he admitted ruefully. "A coincidence, seeing you here."

"No coincidence, I came looking for you."

James raised a defensive eyebrow and took his elbow off the table.

Vanessa placed her drink down and sat to the side of him. Then she laid her palms flat, fingers spread like she was revealing her hand in a game of cards. "This is the thing, James. Con's miserable. And when Con's miserable, my mom's miserable and that doesn't make for a happy home life for me."

James crossed his arms. "And?"

"...And I don't believe that you're happy with the situation either."

"You're right, I'm not. But this isn't a simple thing, Van."

"No one ever said it would be easy, life rarely is."

"Understatement. I was four when Con left and not once did he make contact. He was the only member of my family, other than mom, who was any sort of safety net. Try imagining what is was like having someone promise they'll come back, and then not. I waited for months."

"What did you think Con would have done? Carried you off in the sunset on his trusty charger?"

"Actually, yeah I did. I wasn't lying when I said it was something I wished for every night. I was only a kid, he was my hero. How was I supposed to feel?"

Vanessa didn't react and instead pulled a folded up sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. He unfurled it. It was a dog-eared copy of his own birth certificate.

"Look at it." She pointed to a particular entry, "Con wasn't listed as your father, Claud was. That weakened any legal case Con could have brought for guardianship or access rights. The courts wouldn't have ruled in his favour without proof. A blood test wouldn't have proven anything because Con and Claud were the same blood type. A DNA paternity test could have offered confirmation, but Con didn't have the grounds to force one, and as you know, if he'd tried that, Claud would have ruined him and he couldn't have afforded a protracted court case after that. Can you imagine what it would have done to Con's reputation on the force if it had come out that he'd been a petty criminal as a child – albeit an unconvicted one? The fact his own father, your grandfather, forced him into it would have meant very little."

"Where did you get all this information?"

"Clear a space," Vanessa said and started moving the cups to the other side of the table. Then she unzipped the large bag she had been carrying and pulled out a very full, and very heavy looking document folder. She hoisted and plonked it onto the table in front of him. "Take a look."

James cracked it open and started flicking through it, page by page.

"Con showed it to Mom and me. It's on your family, or more specifically, Claud and you. If you'd have agreed to speak to Con then you'd have been shown this too and then you'd know that Con did try to find you. But he couldn't get in touch until he'd pulled together enough evidence on Claud's criminal activities so he could arm himself to fight back. By the time he'd got enough, your dad had changed your names and skipped town. He couldn't find you, but for years he searched. It wasn't you who changed your surname like we thought, was it?"

"No, it was Claud." James confirmed, still thumbing through the folder amazed at all the information Con had uncovered. Judging from the yellowing of some of the earlier sheets of paper, it must have been years of work. Not just police reports, there were newspaper cuttings, witness statements, photographs, criminal intelligence case files, even copies of James's early school reports. He opened one of the later ones and started nosing through. "Jeeze..." he uttered in surprise, stopping at a particular page.

"What is it?" Vanessa asked, shuffling her chair closer so she could see.

He put his elbow back on the table and leaned his chin on his fist. "This year at school, I was flunking math, couldn't get my head around it." He pointed at the scribbles his teacher had left to show Vanessa how it had been circled in red ink.

Vanessa laughed. "Ouch! Your teacher didn't pull any punches."

"I had some private tuition that year to get me up to speed. I've never given it a moment's thought, but my dad would never have paid for that. I suppose if I'd thought about it, I would have assumed my tutor did it voluntarily, but it wasn't that at all, it must have been Con who paid." He pointed at the margin where, in Con's handwriting, there was a hastily scribbled name. "That was my tutor. It was soon after that my dad changed our surname and started moving us around. See how Con's notes dry up after that?"

Vanessa laid her hand on his wrist. "So you see, he didn't abandon you. And Con _had _been trying to tell you he was your real dad, but you know what he's like, he's clumsy when it comes to matters of the heart. And the longer he left it, the harder it got – it was never the right time."

James harrumphed, but it wasn't a hard noise, more a thoughtful expletive.

Vanessa smiled. "If you're looking for a natural father in Con, you won't find it, he doesn't know what he's doing. You should hear the conversations he and Mr H have been having, Con hasn't a clue. But he wants to try and surely that's all you can ask for?"

James chose not to say anything, but he was listening, his head down and eyes zoning in on the paperwork.

"I know life was tough for you when you were a kid, but you've got a real chance here for something good. Okay, so you'll never have a normal father-son relationship, but it's gotta be better than the crap Claudius Riley inflicted? Con wouldn't make you climb in through small windows so you can let your family in to burgle and search people's homes."

James jerked in his chair.

"Yeah, we know about that as well. At the end of the day, if you and Con don't make the effort, then Claud wins. Don't let him win, James. You've both wasted too many years."

James looked out of the window. It was starting the cheer up, the sun coming out and bursting through the cloud cover. The hand on his arm squeezed and pulled his attention back.

"It's worth a gamble, and I'd give Con pretty good odds..." then she laughed.

He gave her a sharp look. Was she about to make fun of him? No, she was still earnestly serious.

"…and you wouldn't be in this alone."

James frowned, not understanding. "How so?"

"Con and Mom, they're pretty much in it for the long haul. They're already making noises about moving in together. Mom isn't comfortable in our house anymore since the home invasion, she doesn't feel safe. Hardly goes out in the yard now and Con doesn't like us living on our own."

"So?"

"…So, it'd mean I'll have to get used to having a new dad as well – or at least a father figure. Personally, I'm stoked that it's going to be Con, he's one of the coolest people I know. The added benefit to that is that if I've played my cards right, not only do I get a dad again, but I could get a big brother into the bargain. I've always been jealous of Joe because of Frank."

"Aren't you forgetting something."

"What?"

"As flattered as I am, I can't be your big brother. You're taller than me."

"I know, I'm a freak."

"Freaks are us."

James caught the waitress's eye and pointed at the muffins, allowing Vanessa to take the folder off the table and return it to the document wallet.

"Make mine a chocolate chip," Vanessa requested.

They waited for the cakes to be delivered before carrying on their conversation.

James carefully unfurled the sides down on the wrapper. "Laura put you up to this, didn't she?" he asked, popping some of the muffin into his mouth.

"Yep. But not just Mrs H. My mom wants me to extend an invitation to you."

"What sort of invitation?"

"To come and stay with us, for as long as you like."

"You and Andrea?"

"She thinks it would be easier than you going cold turkey at Con's place. Con would be around, but not as much as if you lived with him again. The invitation's there if you want it. No pressure."

James felt his face color up as the enormity of what he was being offered hit him fully. He was unused to such generosity, he was finding it difficult to accept that people would be so kind to him for no personal gain. He look away quickly and blinked a few time to clear his vision. "This is crazy mad!" For the whole of his life, this had been his dream – to be accepted into a family. A real family…a regular family...mom, dad, other kids. He thought he was the only person in the world who hankered after such normalities, but it seemed the girl sitting at the table with him had been having the same fantasies too.

They both sat in companiable silence for a time, Vanessa sipping that god awful drink and nibbling on her cake, attempting to not get any crumbs under her manicured nails. James thoughtfully stirred sugar into his frothy coffee, concentrating hard on pushing down those feelings that were threatening to show themselves again. He wanted to pick up the cup and take a drink to swallow down the lump in his throat, but he was afraid his hand wouldn't be steady enough.

Eventually he gave her a side on look and she did the same thing to him, and a slow conspiratorial grin was shared.

"It would be fun, wouldn't it?" Vanessa asked.

"It'd have its moments."

There was no time like the present. As soon as James as acceded to Andrea's request, Vanessa had dragged him up and frog marched him back to the Hardy's house. There they had packed up all his belongings, thrown them in the back of her wrangler jeep and driven straight to Andrea's.

* * *

Later that same evening, as James was talking to Andrea and Vanessa in the living room, Con walked in and froze in his tracks, almost falling over his own feet. Unbeknownst to them all, he had arrived at the house and quietly let himself in.

"Uh," Con had said at first, completely at a loss. "Hello," was the only other word he said before tipping his confused face in Andrea's direction.

"Hi," James said, feeling suddenly amazingly shy but keeping his bearing.

"James is staying for a while," Andrea explained.

Con's facial expression morphed comically from confused to _"What have you been up to, you meddling woman?"_

"That's okay isn't it?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked quickly and traded looking at Andrea to James and smiled tentatively. "Welcome."

"Thanks…" James conjured the next word into his mouth, rolled it around a few times and tasted it before putting it out there, "…Dad."

Con choked and put a finger up. "Don't move, I just gotta—" and then he turned on his heels and left the room.

It was only later that James found out Con had been so overawed that he had fled to the kitchen to shred a private tear. Unfortunately, he had not accounted for Andrea's level of empathy and she had caught him out.

No one ever spoke of it again.


	35. Chapter 35

**Conclusion**

Frank was leaning against the bathroom doorframe watching Nancy as she applied a final dab of something shiny and luscious to her top lip.

His girlfriend has arrived just that afternoon, and had spent the entire time since preparing for their night out at the Danceland club. He would have preferred to be spending the evening with her alone…along with that figure hugging, off-the-shoulder dress and trademark high heeled boots. His eyes slid down her body and he began conjuring up movie scenes in his head with him and Nancy as the stars. His brain went into a sort of stupor as he drank in the sight of her, to the point where he was so deeply absorbed in his fantasy that he actually started when she spoke to him.

"…so Lawrence Bale was picked up at the airport?"

"Uh…yeah…yes he was. Dad had a mind-leap and suggested the cops seek him on flights to Las Vegas. Bale has a gambling habit, you see. By the time the police got to the airport he was already on a plane, but he was arrested at the other end."

"What about the man who pushed Vanessa into the road, did you ever catch up with him?"

"Not yet, but Con has a good idea as to who it was. He thinks it was one of his cousins. A warrant has been issued. Once the guy shows his face, he'll be arrested. The case would have been wrapped up overnight if Con had known his brother was involved."

Nancy shook her head and stepped back away from the mirror to take in the full view of her face. "I still can't get my head around James and Con, it was confusing enough when he was suddenly Con's nephew." She moved in again to prod at her eye and began wielding an offensive eye-liner pencil with some intent.

"Gonna take some getting used to, that's for sure."

Nancy separated an eyelash. "Is James going to change his surname back?"

"I don't know. Doubt he's thought that far ahead."

Nancy gave her hair a final ruffle and turned around to face her boyfriend. "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous, as always, Drew," he answered.

Nancy turned back to the mirror and carried on fluffing until Frank eventually approached to slide his arms about her waist. "We need to talk," he said stoically and rested his chin next to her neck.

She paused for a beat, her unsurprised gaze rising to meet his in the mirror. "Yes," she said succinctly and crisply.

"How are we going to make this work. You and me?"

There was a pause and Nancy's head tipped to the one side. Frank could practically hear her brain ticking over as she gave his question due consideration, deciding on the most appropriate response. "I don't know," she said eventually her expression guarded. "I can't leave my dad and move here permanently, what about you?"

"I don't want to work with anyone other than Joe."

"In that case, I don't suppose he'd consider—?"

Frank laughed dryly. "Doubtful. Ask him and Vanessa to sacrifice everything and follow me to River Heights? That wouldn't be fair."

"He'd follow you anywhere."

"And that's why it's unfair."

Nancy leaned forward and broke her gaze to stare at her lips. "These long distant relationships aren't easy, are they?" There were tears glistening on her eyelashes.

"Like juggling ice cream," he agreed and kissed her neck. "Let's grab all the time we can and worry about it later."

* * *

As Frank entered the Danceland club with Nancy on his arm, he was hit with the realisation that he was about to revisit a 'crime scene', and a painful one at that. He involuntarily flinched. The club was just as hot, loud, and as raucous as it had been when he'd been before with Vanessa similarly linked to his forearm. With the flashing lights, it was little wonder that someone had taken photographs of them unnoticed.

As he and Nancy paused to cast around for one of their friends or Joe, Frank was certain that one thing was going to be very different from their last visit: there would be no welcoming hugs from or to Vanessa.

Nancy pulled on his arm and pointed before leading him through the room towards Vanessa and James. Reaching them, Frank tapped Vanessa on the shoulder and abruptly ended her loud, raucous conversation with James who was indicating to the Danceland club's dance floor with a beer bottle before swishing it dangerously to and fro in time to the music. Frank's interruption caused a momentary lapse in James's concentration and a passer-by to have to dodge the bottle when it came perilously close to going up his left nostril.

"The Dark One!" James bellowed and then grinned a welcome at Nancy who was now gripping Frank's hand.

"Nancy, you're back," Vanessa shouted excitedly.

"This afternoon. Not for long though. Couple of days." Nancy gazed regretfully up at Frank who leaned closer to enveloping her shoulders with his arm.

"Enough time for a dance though," Vanessa said and directed her thumb in James's direction. "Mr Misery won't dance with me, _and_ he cheats at Kerplunk."

"Kerplunk?" Frank asked, his mouth rising at the corner.

"James and me are making up for lost sibling time. Tomorrow, we build Lego City."

"Ah, I see." Frank slid a sidelong look at Nancy and she returned an amused glance.

James nudged Frank with his elbow, "I do not cheat at Kerplunk. It can't be helped it if my marbles end up in Van's pile. They're round, they roll, it's what they do."

"WhatEVER!" Vanessa transferred her drink into James's free hand, grabbed Nancy by the arm and pulled her towards the dance floor.

"Where's Joe?" Frank asked James.

"He's bagged one of the alcoves with Fenton."

"Dad?" Frank's eyebrow shot up and he spun towards the seating area. Sure enough, he immediately latched onto his brother and father sitting across the table from one another on a black leather crescent shaped sofa. "Aw man! What's he doing here?"

James laughed at his horrified expression and dogged Frank's steps as he weaved hurriedly through the crowd to get to his brother, having noted Joe's uncomfortable body language.

"Hi," Frank said, reaching the table. He turned slightly on his dad and gave Joe a deeply quizzical stare. It was quieter than by the dance floor, no bellowing required now.

Joe performed a barely discernable shrug and smiled, "Yo."

"Hello Junior," Fenton answered and stood away from the sofa to allow Frank to slide in next to him. "Beers all round?" he asked.

There was a heavy pause as Frank again cast perplexed eyes toward Joe before tipping his face up to his father again. "Sure. I didn't think beer was your thing though."

"It is today." Fenton slapped James on the shoulder, "Go and find out what the girls would like and then come and give me a hand."

"Okay." James dropped down Vanessa's half finished glass of Diet Coke and his now empty bottle onto the table and headed back the way he'd come.

Frank waited until Fenton had headed for the bar before asking Joe, "What's he doing here?" this time not hypothetically.

"Your guess is as good as mine. When I asked him that he said something about 'coming of age'. It's going to seriously crash my cool. I mean, who wants to be seen out with their old Dad?"

Frank grunted and swivelled to look at his father, finding that Fenton was deep in conversation with a very pretty girl whose hand was caressing the small of his back. James was standing just to the side of him, also watching with his mouth hanging slightly open. Frank turned back to his brother and raised an eyebrow. "Darn Joe, I think you need to rethink that. It's _us_ getting in the way of _Dad's_ chick time!"

Joe started to laugh, but then his face froze and his eyes widened a little. "Dude…do that again!" he stammered excitedly and pointed at the mirrored wall aligning the table.

"Do what?" Frank looked at their reflections. He couldn't see what Joe was getting at.

"Your eyebrow, _you lifted one eyebrow_." He was almost shouting in his excitement.

Frank looked unconvinced. "Nice try Joe…what's the joke? You know I can't do that anymore, the nerve damage—"

"Who's jokin'?" He half stood and lean across the table to grasp Frank's shoulders tightly and lever him towards the mirror again, their cheeks close enough as to touch. "This time, I really _am _being serious. Do it again, go on."

Joe sounded so encouraging he almost had Frank convinced, enough as to run the risk of being the butt of Joe's derision for the rest of the night…so he _did_ try. He tried an over-the-top sardonic brow lift, the one he used to use when Joe was pulling one of his lame pranks. And to his amazement, his face decoration DID go up. "Oh my God!"

"Way to GO!" Joe gushed, grabbed the side of Frank's head and planted a hard kiss to his forehead. "Man, I love you!" he finished and shot out of the seat and headed towards the dance floor, presumably to tell Nancy and Vanessa.

A bit taken aback, Frank wiped his forehead, turned back to the mirror and did it again, just to confirm that he hadn't imagined it. "Wow."

His phone vibrated in his shirt pocket where he'd deposited it earlier and he automatically fished it out. He glanced down and saw that he'd received a text message from an unknown number. Even though he knew it would be spam, he thumbed the green button anyway. What he read had his brow peaking again:

"…_Stop admiring yourself. If you've changed your mind on that job offer, just nod and it's yours…"_

"What?"

Alert now, Frank's eyes shot up from the screen and lasered across the room, his gaze eventually settling on the tall, erect and athletic figure standing just to the fore of Joe, Nancy and Vanessa. It was John, the Assassin, the Hunter.

John half turned and angled his chin towards the threesome and smirked as if subsuming Frank in on a private joke – and to be fair to John, Frank could understand why he was so humored: Joe was yelling, trying to slice through the noise whilst Nancy had him pulled down to her level by the lapel, attempting to make sense of what he was saying. Vanessa was making things even more difficult by gripping Joe around the waist and gyrating in a less than feminine way to try and make him dance.

John held his phone up and pointed to it as a way of re-visiting the texted question. Frank held up his own phone and, to make sure he was communicating himself clearly, shook his head vehemently left and right and made cut-throat movements. Then Frank's view was blocked by Fenton and James as they returned and started unloading drinks onto the table.

Frank raised himself and pulled James down so he could see past him. Worried for his girlfriend, Joe and Vanessa.

"Who you looking for, Son?"

Frank couldn't see John anymore, he wasn't where he'd been standing, replaced by Joe returning to the table. Frank stood straighter and looked towards the main doors, bobbing about and trying to see around people, looking for John's staunchly upright and confident gait.

"Son?" Fenton asked again.

John was gone, replaced by Frank's phone vibrating again. Frank thumbed the new message into life:

"…_Pity…"_

"Frank?" Fenton asked forcefully, his voice finally cutting through to Frank's consciousness and getting his attention. "Who are you looking for?"

Frank took another look at his phone screen. "Thought I knew someone, but I was mistaken."

James slid a fully beer glass in front of him and Frank settled back down. Joe joined them and Fenton slid along to make room for him to sit. "Did you tell Dad and James about your eyebrow?" Joe asked.

"Thought I'd let you do that," Frank said and stored John's number to his phone's memory before turning the power completely off and pocketing it.

**THE END**

**This story is dedicated to Rebel, the best dog in the world who sadly died recently. He is missed.**

**Acknowledgements**

Thank you primarily to my brilliant BETA reader, Alaina for her wise words and sorting through all my English-isms again. I'm sure a few slipped through, but it would have been far more if not for her. And thanks' for letting me borrow Rebel again.

Also a word of thanks to my second BETA reader Mat (my husband). Who puts up with a lot, and although in real life doesn't read anything other than newspapers, still goes diligently through my chapters to check they read smoothly.


End file.
